Music for a dead man
by thedramalady
Summary: Molly helps Sherlock fake his death and after some complications on their plan he starts to live with her. Sebastian Moran has claimed the criminal network. Despite Moriarty's death, the safety of Sherlock and his friends are still far from assured. This is the story of a man trying to rise from his fall and discovering new feelings. Songfic and eventually M rated SherlockxMolly.
1. Goodbye

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss's amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

* * *

**Music for a dead man**

Chapter 1: Goodbye

Sherlock woke up to a strange place. The first sense he felt coming back to him was his hearing. There was absolute silence. Next, he tried his sense of touch. He could sense he was lying on something big and soft, with fabric covering its surface. _A mattress then_, he deduced. There was a 99% probability he was lying in a bed. Not HIS bed, obviously, _so whose bed is this_, he thought. Next, he tried inhaling. He almost regretted it, as he felt a painful stab in his chest. He also felt his mouth and throat so dry that if he didn't know better, he could have sworn he chewed and swallowed sand. _This doesn't feel good at all_, he thought. Next, he tried opening his eyes. He opened them slowly, adjusting his eyesight to the dim, warm light coming from the window. _Twilight_, he decided. Without moving his head, he checked his surroundings. The window just before him was closed and the curtains were just two inches opened. He could see its light purple fabric and white color of the wall. He looked up. Ceiling was also white, with a vintage looking ceiling fan that carried a light bulb at its center. Looking to his left, he saw a simple but well-designed wardrobe. It occupied all of the area of wall and Sherlock could tell this room was considerably small. Looking to his right, he saw a light blue colored wall and a simple white door at the center of it. There was also a big framed photograph of a man hanging on the wall. _Late fifties, judging by his expression lines and a bit of hair that is missing_, he thought. He also saw a nightstand next to the right side of the bed. It had a single drawer and on the top were both a lampshade and a book.

Sherlock started assessing his findings. _Light purple curtain, light blue wall, a big, well designed wardrobe and a pink lampshade on the nightstand. A framed photograph of a man hanging on the wall. He is clearly someone respected by whoever owns this place, and judging by the overall appearance of the room, that someone is an organized person of simple habits. Whoever it is, he or she keeps the room clean. I believe there is about 90% chance this room belongs to a woman_, he decided. The room was strange to him, and yet, somehow, familiar.

Sherlock tried to move. He twitched his fingers slowly and then he moved his right hand slightly. He decided to try to raise his arms and immediately gave up. It hurt so much that it felt like he was run over by a train, in the unlikely chance one could survive such a thing. He tried twitching his toes and then he tried folding his legs slowly. It hurt just was bad, but at least he managed to move enough to feel his bare feet on the sheet, gripping it with his toes. About three seconds later, he managed to move his arms enough to spread them on the bed, with palms facing up. He was staring at the ceiling now, and he started to think.

_Whose is this place? What time is it exactly of what day and date? Wait, why am I here in the first place?_

He started forcing his memory in what seemed like a thousand miles per hour speed. He was remembering now, and the memories came in a rush. He closed his eyes tightly.

"_I'm waiting – JM."_

_And then, at Bart's rooftop, James Moriarty was waiting for me._

"_I may be on the side of the angels but don't think for a second that I am one of them."_

_Gunshot._

_Moriarty dead._

_Calling John…and then…throwing myself off the roof. _Sherlock cringed internally at the memory.

_John, jogging in my direction, then legs all around me, and then…everything was black._

"_Sherlock? It worked. You'll be all right, I promise. You'll be just fine…"_

_Wait, _he thought. _What…who…_

"_You are wrong, you know. You do count. You have always counted and I have always trusted you. But you were right. I am not ok."_

"_Tell me what's wrong."_

_"Molly, I think I'm going to die."_

_"What do you need?"_

"_If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?"_

"_What do you need?"_

"…_You."_

Sherlock opened his eyes abruptly and stared at the ceiling fan wide eyed.

_Oh_, he thought. _Molly. Of course. This must be her flat. She helped me faking my death._

Suddenly, Sherlock had the urge to sit up. He rolled on his right side and, propping himself on his right elbow, collected all the strength he had and made a move to sit up. When he did, he felt his head spin like he was in an insanely fast merry-go-round and ache like some Mongolian gong player decided to make his head the gong.

"Arg!"

Sherlock grunted in pain and shut his eyes tightly and instinctively put his two hands on his head, as if that could minimize the pain. He started to take long, slow breaths and after a few minutes the pain was bearable enough for him to open his eyes again. He found his eyesight slightly blurred and tried to force his focus. He decided to focus on the framed photograph on the wall that was directly in front of him.

_Must be her father, then_, he thought.

"_You're a bit like my dad. He's dead…no, sorry."_

"_Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation, it's really not your area."_

"_When he was dying he was always cheerful, he was lovely, except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked…sad."_

"_Molly."_

"_You look sad, when you think he can't see you."_

"_You're ok? And don't say that you are because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."_

"_You can see me."_

"_I don't count."_

"You do count, Molly. You do count."

Sherlock was taken aback when he realized he said that out loud. He swallowed, briefly forgetting how dry and rough his throat felt. He grunted internally and made a pained face, gritting his teeth.

_I need water, _he thought.

Slowly, he reached for the nightstand as support and tried to stand up. Again, he collected all the strength he had to make the attempt with a single move. Just like he expected, he felt his head spinning and pounding again, but it was not as bad as before. Sherlock released his grip on the nightstand and stumbled forward, tripped once and almost fell on his face but managed to recover his balance and slowly walked forward, concentrating on getting his feet to the kitchen.

As Sherlock stepped forward he felt a familiar lump in his throat, an unnamed anxiety, a feeling of desperation when he realized John wouldn't be waiting for him in the living room. Every step was like a little bit of hell.

* * *

**Goodbye (by Stabbing Westward)**

So this is where I say goodbye

This is where my story ends

And if there's one thing I've learned from life

It's that it gets you in the end

So goodbye my friend

Goodbye

So goodbye my friend

Goodbye


	2. Superman

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss's amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

**Sidenote:** Thank you for the reviews, it really keeps me going. Hope you like this chapter.

* * *

**Music for a dead man**

Chapter 2: Superman

Getting out of the bedroom, Sherlock found himself a bit surprised as he realized Molly's flat was bigger than he thought it would be, considering Molly was single and lived alone. He took his time to check the place. It looks like he was alone.

"Meow!"

Sherlock looked down and saw what looked like an European Short Hair. The cat started to purr and rub himself against Sherlock's legs.

_Well, not totally alone then,_ he thought.

Molly had a big bookshelf of titles ranging from A to Z. Human anathomy, human pathologies and all kinds of med school books, encyclopedias, cat books, gastronomy books, poetry books and lots of novels. The genre was not specific; she had Agatha Christie, C.S. Lewis, Douglas Adams, Edgar Allan Poe, George Orwell, Jane Austen, J.K. Rowling, J. R. R. Tolkien, Jules Verne, Kathy Reichs, Stephen King, William Shakespeare and also really old looking Lewis Carroll, Michael Ende, Roald Dahl and The Grimm Brothers. She also had a few graphic novels that also looked really old, most from Marvel: The Avengers, Spider Man, Hulk, Thor, Iron Man, Captain America. The only DC graphic novels were Batman, Green Lantern and just a couple of Justice League.

_Iron man? Hulk? Never heard of those. Someone __**really**__ likes fiction_, Sherlock thought.

In the middle of the living room there was a large sofa and a couple of chairs around a coffee table. The furniture was angled towards the 42" led tv. Momentarily forgetting about the water, Sherlock decided to explore. He just couldn't help it. He saw two doors on one side and the kitchen at the other. He decided to go for the doors. The nearest one was parallel to Molly's room and revealed itself to be a guest room.

_Wait…_

Sherlock scanned the room. It was just as big as Molly's, with a king sized bed, a wardrobe, a desk and lots of boxes piled in a corner. It looked like ages since someone last entered this specific room. The curtains were dusty and the wooden floor needed waxing.

_This is definitely not a guest room. Even someone as lonely as Molly wouldn't be so careless about a guest room. This is most likely her deceased father's bedroom. Yes. But why is it so untidy? Well, not important. Deleted already, _Sherlock thought.

Sherlock got out of the room and headed for the other door. It was a bathroom. He saw a brand new purple toothbrush still in its plastic package but aside from that, there was nothing out of the ordinary nor anything that hinted that someone else besides Molly was a regular at the flat. He closed the door and headed for the kitchen.

Sherlock opened the cupboards to get a glass and filled it with water, feeling a bittersweet sensation as the liquid went down his throat. He could feel he was a bit dehydrated, so he drank another two glasses.

He could feel already the grogginess and blurriness fading away and his mind getting more alert.

"Meow!"

"Yes, I heard you already, cat. What is it that you want?"

"Meow?"

Sherlock quickly scanned the flat and tried to locate anything cat related. He fetched the cat food package that was on the kitchen countertop, bent down slowly and filled the furry feline's food bowl. Just as he expected, the cat started to eat in a record speed. Sherlock started to wonder if Molly's carelessness was only restricted to the guest room or if the cat was also a victim.

As Sherlock's mind was growing more alert he could see something dangerous happening: he was getting bored. He couldn't go out, for obvious reasons, and he didn't have any case to focus his thoughts on. He also couldn't contact Lestrade because, well, he was supposed to be dead. Sherlock was growing more and more anxious: he couldn't go out, he couldn't work, he couldn't talk to anyone.

Truth be told, Sherlock was never much of the talking type. He rarely found something in his "immense intellect", as John had once put it, that was worth – or even **possible** – to share with someone and get a marginally smart response. As antisocial as he was, he could see there were boundaries to his psyche: he was human after all – although that statement can be highly debatable among his acquaintances – and even he couldn't bear to be totally deprived of human contact.

Exasperated, he sank in the sofa releasing a long and impatient sigh. He thought that since he was in hell, he might as well indulge. With that thought, Sherlock turned on the tv. Some show with high school students singing.

"Boring", he said as he changed the channel.

"…in the early hours of yesterday morning the man who called himself Sherlock Holmes either jumped or fell to his death from the rooftop of this very hospital."

With that, Sherlock started paying attention to the news. Well, apparently not so much news anymore. The image read big headlines: SHERLOCK HOLMES MYSTERY FALL and apparently was first aired by 9 in the morning.

"His death – like his life – is a mystery with no clear answers. It's been just over two months since the event that has come to be known as the Trial of the Century: James Moriarty, apparently the leader of a huge criminal organization, was accused of attempting to steal the Crown Jewels and conspiring to break into the Bank of England. The sole witness was the internet sensation, the so called detective Sherlock Holmes. Moriarty however was sensationally acquitted of all charges and yesterday the almost unbelievable truth was revealed: James Moriarty was an actor, Richard Brook, hired by Sherlock Holmes to convince police and public alike that he was a genius. Many of the crimes he was said to have committed simply didn't happen and the blog which made Sherlock famous was revealed to be nothing more than a work of fiction. What is still unclear is as to why he did what he did. The truth revealed in a national newspaper yesterday was that Sherlock Holmes was nothing more than a fantasist and, without wishing to speculate, it appears that the truth may have caught up with him and this had tragically led him to take his own life."

The images were now at the news set.

"Friends of Sherlock Holmes did not want to disclose when or where the funeral will take place. We also tried to reach Richard Brook for explanation on what could justify Holmes's action, but he wasn't found on any of his addresses. Meanwhile, there have been seen several Sherlock supportive campaigns throughout the country. Posters, flags, stickers, and several other printings reading either "Believe in Sherlock Holmes" or "Moriarty was real" can be seen everywhere: the tube, bus stations, phone cabins, articles of clothing, you name it. Holmes's flat mate and rumored lover Dr. John Watson refused to comment on the tragedy. We will be back with news about Sherlock Holmes's mystery fall as we get more information. That's it for tonight's BBC News. London local time: Friday, The 17th June 2011, 19:30".

"Football! The country prepares for another clash of the titans: Arsenal x Chelsea, tonight at–"

Sherlock turned the tv off. He just sat there, thinking about what he should be thinking. This was a very unfamiliar feeling and it was unnerving. It made him feel confused and scared, as if he didn't have enough to deal with.

A couple minutes passed. Sherlock moved to a lying position, with his fingers intertwined resting on his abdomen. He took a deep breath at the same time as he closed his eyes. "So it's Friday. It's just been a day…"

* * *

**Superman (by Five for Fighting)**

I can't stand to fly  
I'm not that naive  
I'm just out to find  
The better part of me

I'm more than a bird  
I'm more than a plane  
More than some pretty face beside a train  
And it's not easy to be me

Wish that i could cry  
Fall upon my knees  
Find a way to lie  
'bout a home i'll never see

It might sound absurd  
But don't be naive  
Even heroes have the right to bleed  
I may be disturbed  
But won't you concede  
Even heroes have the right to dream  
It's not easy to be me

Up, up and away, away from me  
Well, it's alright  
You can all sleep sound tonight  
I'm not crazy or anything

I can't stand to fly  
I'm not that naive  
Men weren't meant to ride  
With clouds between their knees

I'm only a man in a silly red sheet  
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street  
Only a man in a funny red sheet  
Looking for special things inside of me, inside of me, yeah,  
Inside of me,  
Inside of me,  
Inside of me,

I'm only a man in a funny red sheet  
I'm only a man looking for a dream  
I'm only a man in a funny red sheet  
And it's not easy

It's not easy to be me


	3. Echo

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss's amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

**Sidenote:** Ok, so I actually cried while writing this. This chapter is sad, so I'm warning you in advance. Anyways, I hope you like it. Review if you think it is worth it because I want to keep improving my writing. Thank you.

* * *

**Music for a dead man**

Chapter 3: Echo

Sherlock was perfectly still for a good deal of time. He was still lying on the sofa, fingers intertwined resting on his abdomen when suddenly he heard footsteps and tilted his head to the door's direction. They were a bit hurried and a few seconds later they stopped just outside the door. He heard a zipper being pulled and the familiar high pitched sound of metal – someone was fumbling with keys. A second later the door to Molly's flat opened and she came hurriedly inside. When she went past the small corridor that led to the living room, she froze in place as she met Sherlock's stare. Neither said anything. A few seconds later – or minutes, Molly couldn't really tell – she strolled in his direction taking small, slow steps, as if that could help her think. She put her purse on the coffee table and sat on an armchair next to Sherlock.

"You're awake."

"Yes, obviously."

Silence.

And then, more silence and what seemed like a staring contest, except that Molly was starting to lose.

"What kept you so long, Molly?"

Molly felt her eyes widen a bit as she wasn't very used to hear him say her name out loud in her presence.

"Mycroft. I was leaving Bart's when a black Mercedes pulled at the hospital's entrance. A woman got out of the car and said I was being summoned by Mycroft Holmes and politely **forced** me to come with her."

"Ah."

"Ah? You mean he really does that?"

"Quite frequently, yes."

"But that's kidnapping!"

"You could have refused to go, you know, so it's not technically kidnapping if you have a choice."

"And he could have **asked**, as in, **invited**. Doesn't the Holmes family know the word '**please**'?"

"We have our own ways of getting what we want."

"Yes, I'm **aware** of that, Sherlock."

At her tone, Sherlock couldn't help but smirk a little. She looked altered, nervous; she was trembling slightly, but managed to keep her voice steady and hard enough to actually use sarcasm successfully. He could read a few of her emotions through her body reactions: she was trying to keep her breath steady, her pupils were dilated and her face was a bit crimson. Sherlock didn't need to be a genius to know something was wrong.

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to know about you."

"How lovely. I'll have to ask again: What. Did. He. Want?"

Molly dropped her gaze to her hands and swallowed. Sherlock, in response, squinted his eyes infinitesimally as he saw Molly growing more uncomfortable. Clearly it was something that bothered her. The silence was starting to get to Sherlock's nerves and he sighed loudly.

"If his only concern was about my well fare he wouldn't have summoned you, he wouldn't have to talk to you face to face for that, actually he wouldn't even need to reach you because Mycroft can easily have any information he wants and I **know** he wouldn't leave me unsupervised right after my supposed death and I wouldn't be surprised if he put cameras in this very flat to watch my every move, SO, **Molly**, what did he **really** want?" With that speech, Sherlock gave her a hard look and waited for her to reply. A second later, Molly frowned and replied:

"He genuinely cares about you, you know."

"His work consists in spying, either faking or covering information. He talks sweetly to you but on his desk he has a thick file with all your history. He doesn't really need to talk to you, you see, so how genuine can **he** be?"

There was a heartbeat of silence.

"He told me what happened, Sherlock. All of it. And he is sorry, and he hopes that I can convince you of that, though how can someone convince you of anything at all is beyond me. He said that you wouldn't accept his help and stay with him, so he wants me to stay close to you while you lie low and thus must not contact John, so please, **please** try to help me with that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"Also, there are no cameras in my flat."

"Yes, I know."

"But you just said –"

"That I wouldn't be surprised **if** he put cameras in this very flat, not that he **actually did it**."

Silence.

"He also instructed me on a few things that are to come. Your funeral, for one."

With that said, Molly had Sherlock's full attention. She felt her face blushing slightly at his intense gaze.

"I-It's going to be tomorrow. I won't be there, but Mrs. Hudson, John and Mycroft himself will."

"I see. At what time?"

"Ah, about that, Mycroft didn't tell me. We talked in a strict need-to-know-only basis for both your safety and mine. Also, you must not –"

"Leave the flat, yes, **I know**, Molly, and I would appreciate it very much if you just stopped stating the obvious."

Molly sighed silently and dropped her gaze to her hands again.

Sherlock could already see John standing next to her, giving him "the look".

"I'm sorry, Molly. That was…rude. My apologies."

Molly raised her eyebrows in shock. Sherlock wasn't really someone that apologized much because, well, he was a sociopath and as such, feeling sorry was a difficult concept for him to grasp. But not totally impossible, it seems.

"It's all right, Sherlock". Really, it was. She was already used to it. If it was anyone else she would feel offended but this was Sherlock, and Sherlock isn't exactly people, is he?

"What exactly happened after my fall?"

Molly was yet again taken aback, impressed by how fast Sherlock was able to change subjects.

"All went as planned, except for your head. You landed on the garbage truck that was exactly where it was supposed to be, but you hit your head on the landing. The homeless network came and did as you instructed: you suffered an electric shock and were temporarily paralyzed, just enough to get John out of the way and send you to the hospital. Once you were in Bart's, I took over. Mycroft was there as well to ensure there was nothing unexpected to happen. Your face was bloodied, but I was expecting that as part of the deception. When your body was supposed to react and you didn't wake up, I detected a small cut on the back of your head. I fixed it and we ran an MRI and performed a few other neurological tests, and you were clinically fine; you just needed to rest. Your body was submitted to a great amount of stress and that's what had knocked you down. Then, I officially pronounced you dead and Mycroft made sure the world would know about it. Have you…seen it already?"

Sherlock just nodded.

"Right…well, when I told him you were ready to go home, he just told me to bring you here and said nothing else…so he put us in a car and came along, followed by another car. When we arrived here he had some men put you in my room while some other men stood outside watching the street."

Molly turned a bit red at that last statement.

"That was around 2 in morning, so no one was really passing by…actually, the street was blocked. When you were settled I was instructed by him to maintain my routine and that you would be fine in my absence, so I went to Bart's in the morning. I met John and Lestrade for lunch and…that's it."

A heartbeat passed, and Sherlock asked:

"I see. And how is John?"

"Well…"

Silence.

"Not good?", Sherlock tried.

"Devastated, actually."

* * *

**Echo (by Jason Walker)**

_Hello, hello  
Anybody out there?  
'Cause I don't hear a sound  
Alone, alone  
I don't really know where the world is but I miss it now_

It was a dark, silent night at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock's absence made it feel like the place has lost its color and its life, making it almost alien with such silence. The kettle was boiling and started screaming, cutting the eerie silence like a call of relief. John emerged from the bathroom dressed in a dark blue silk robe after a quick shower and started fixing himself a cup of tea. Except that he, out of habit, pulled two cups and put them on the kitchen table and it took him about 10 seconds to catch up with his actions. He drew a long sigh and slowly put the cup back in the cupboard.

_I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name  
Like a fool at the top of my lungs  
Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright  
But it's never enough  
Cause my echo, echo  
Is the only voice coming back  
My shadow, shadow  
Is the only friend that I have_

John slowly walked to the living room, like his feet weighed a thousand pounds. His knees were trembling and for all he cared, he could just give in and sink to the floor right there and then. But he would try – he had to. When he finally managed to sit on his armchair, his eyes stopped on Sherlock's own armchair and he just couldn't hold himself together anymore.

_Listen, listen  
I would take a whisper if  
That's all you have to give  
But it isn't, isn't  
You could come and save me  
Try to chase it crazy right out of my head_

Tea completely forgotten, John started to cry. He didn't make a sound, he just stared at the empty armchair, crying, and for a second he could see Sherlock sitting in front of him, exasperated about the lack of cases. Tears streamed silently down his face and the stab he felt in his chest was just impossible to be explained. He still could not quite believe it: his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, was dead.

_I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name  
Like a fool at the top of my lungs  
Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright  
But it's never enough  
Cause my echo, echo  
Is the only voice coming back  
My shadow, shadow  
Is the only friend that I have_

* * *

_I don't wanna be down and  
I just wanna feel alive and  
Get to see your face again once again  
Just my echo, my shadow  
You're my only friend_

"How are you feeling, Sherlock?"

"Like I was supposed to."

"I see… well, there are painkillers in a medicine box in the first drawer of the kitchen countertop. Just **please** don't overdo it, Sherlock, my day was bad enough and I don't need you to die – and truly die, this time – to add it up. I am tired and in urgent need of a shower. Please don't destroy the house while I'm away, all right?"

_I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name  
Like a fool at the top of my lungs  
Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright  
But it's never enough  
Cause my echo, echo  
Oh my shadow, shadow_

"Why would I do such a thing, Molly?"

"Well, I was… **informed** that you can be quite destructive."

Sherlock gave her a quick, small smile.

"I see. Don't worry, I'll just stay here."

"Just stay there, on the sofa? Won't you eat or sleep?"

"Yes, not hungry and not sleepy."

"All right then. I'll be right back."

_Hello, hello  
Anybody out there_

Sherlock sighed and sank in the sofa again. This time he started to think about all that happened and about what still had to be done. The final problem was still not over, and he need to focus. He also sensed there was something Mycroft wasn't telling him and he **would** pull it out of him, no matter what.


	4. A thousand years

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss' amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

**IMPORTANT:** It's 6:30 in the morning (local time, GMT -3) and I'm going to the airport in… – glances at watch – 10 minutes. I'm making a quick trip to Rio but I'll be back by Monday the 30th. Chapter 5 is almost ready, I'll post it when I get back either on Monday or tuesday. If I don't, it's because I died in a plane crash. So yeah, pray for my soul. Haha.

**Sidenote:** This chapter required a lot of work. Still, I don't think it was very good…I'm not sure such responses from Sherlock could actually be possible. Please let me know what you think, if he's a bit out of character and whatnot. Also I'm reading the original stories and I intend to mix Sherlock's personalities a little (Conan Doyle's and Moftiss'). Thank you for reading. I love you.

* * *

**Music for a dead man**

Chapter 4: A thousand years

Molly strolled into her room and opened the wardrobe. The night was a bit chilly, so she decided to go for flannel pajamas. She pulled out a pink set that would just do it. She also pulled out knickers and set them on her bed. She started to strip, unzipping her pants when she was suddenly aware that Sherlock was just outside her bedroom, sitting on her living room sofa. She decided then to lock the door to her room. Not that Sherlock would sneak in purposely to get a glimpse of her naked body, and she felt a bit sad when admitting that to herself.

Knowing him, he would walk around her flat like **he **owned the place and as much as she loved him, letting Sherlock do as he pleases would mean chaos. So, with that in mind, Molly decided that the first thing to do was to let him know that **she **owned the place and **she **would be the one to define which rooms he would be welcomed in and when he could come in. Really, it was like training a dog or defining boundaries to a small kid. Well, truth be told, in some ways Sherlock was indeed like a small kid.

Molly stripped off her clothing that had a faint smell of formaldehyde and rotting meat and went into the bathroom en suite. She decided that a hot shower was best to unknot her tired muscles. Stepping inside and feeling a heavenly relief, Molly allowed herself to smile. There was too much trouble and sadness over Sherlock's supposed death, so she had to try to find a safe harbor, for the sake of her sanity.

* * *

There was a light knock to the door of 221B. John jumped a little, being brought back from his stupor. He stood and opened the door, revealing a sad looking Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, hello John dear. I just dropped by to check on you."

"Do come in, Mrs. Hudson."

John closed the door silently as the old woman entered the flat. They looked at each other and there was silence and, a few seconds later, as if they could read each other's minds, they pulled in an embrace.

"I'm so sorry, my dear. I never imagined–"

"Yes, me neither, Mrs. Hudson."

Pulling out of the embrace, she took the hint that he wasn't in the mood to talk about Sherlock, so Mrs. Hudson tried a different approach.

"How was your day, John?"

"I talked to my therapist in the morning…met with Molly and Lestrade for lunch and went straight back home. Nothing of real consequence.", _because nothing of real consequence is going to happen from now on_, John added mentally.

"How about yourself, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh, my hip was really eating me today but I feel better now, thank you for asking. Do you need anything, child?"

"No, Mrs. Hudson, it's all fine. Thank you for your concern."

They exchanged a long glance.

"All right then, my dear. I shall leave you now. Have a good night."

"Goodnight to you as well, Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson turned and started for the 221B door when she suddenly stopped and turned to John.

"Oh. About tomorrow, what is the time again?"

"It will be at 10 in the morning. Mycroft will come half an hour earlier to fetch us…and take us all to the…funeral." At that last word, John's voice cracked a little, but he soon tried to recover by saying "so please be here on time."

"Of course, dear. Shall we have breakfast together then?"

John couldn't help but smile, even a small smile.

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"It's settled then. Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson."

* * *

Sherlock heard a 'beep' sound coming from Molly's purse, waking him up from his thoughts. _Her mobile. Whatever, not important,_ he thought, and started to resume his thinking.

_Wait…could it be? _Sherlock looked at the direction of Molly's room and heard the faint noise of water. She was still in her shower.

_Perfect_, he thought. Sherlock quickly opened Molly's purse and fetched the phone. He went through her messages and checked the one that was most recent. It was from John. Sherlock frowned. _As I expected_, he thought to himself.

_I forgot to ask you, are you coming tomorrow? It will be at 10 o'clock. Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft will be there as well – JW_

Sherlock wouldn't know how much time he spent staring at the phone; he heard the sound of a door being closed and jumped a little, eyes darting quickly to the door to Molly's room. He then let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he realized the noise came from the door to Molly's bathroom en suite. He quickly slipped the phone back in the purse and then back on the coffee table.

Two minutes later, Molly emerged from her room and into the living room.

"Gosh, I'm starving. Are you sure you don't want anything?"

"Tea would be fine."

"All right.", said Molly as she walked to the kitchen, serving herself two slices of bread and waiting for the kettle to boil. She opened the fridge, fetched an egg and started frying it.

* * *

VAUXHALL CROSS, 22:17

The office room was quiet and dark, save for a desk lamp angled toward a thick file and some scattered papers and photographs. Mycroft was sitting comfortably on his armchair, his elbows on the table with his fingers intertwined and resting under his chin. He was staring at the subjects on the desk with a very frustrated look when the phone started to ring. He picked up at once.

"Holmes."

"Thames House, sir. We have new information on Moriarty's file."

"Go on."

"The sniper siding with Moriarty was revealed to be former Colonel Sebastian Moran. We have indications that he had been having contact with Moriarty for at least a year. Apparently, he is trying to keep a low profile now. We are watching him closely, 24/7."

"Is he still in Baker Street?"

"Yes, sir."

"But he didn't make any move towards them?"

"None, sir. He rarely goes out and as much as we can tell, he is keeping an eye on Sherlock related news."

"I see. Decrease threat level from Substancial to Moderate. Keep an eye on John as well. We take no risks this time."

"Understood, sir. Also, we are prepared to hack in at any time, sir."

"No. We don't know what he is really capable of yet. Any failed attempt to sabotage him could complicate matters. Just make sure he won't shoot anyone and keep researching."

"Yes, sir, understood."

Mycroft was the first to hang up. He picked up the phone again and waited for about five seconds. A woman picked up from the other side and Mycroft instructed her to forward all Moriarty related calls to his personal mobile. He then hung up, turned off his desk lamp, fetched his umbrella and his coat and strolled outside.

* * *

"There you go, Sherlock."

"Thank you."

They sat silently in the living room by the coffee table; Molly eating bread with cream cheese and a fried egg and Sherlock occasionally sipping at his tea. Molly just observed him and after a few minutes she finished her meal and turned to him.

"Please don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Plotting. You are up to something."

Sherlock just looked at her, squinting his eyes a little. He took a final sip of his tea and put the cup on the coffee table.

"Not at all. I was just thinking, and I can't really stop doing it."

"Right.", _But I know you are up to something_, she added mentally. Molly stood up with both their cups in her hands and washed them in the kitchen sink. When she was back in the living room she fetched her phone and earphones from her purse and Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice from the bookshelf. She sat comfortably on the sofa this time, as far from Sherlock as possible. She put the book on her lap and was about to define a playlist of songs on her mobile when a message popped up with a beep.

_Sorry, I forgot you will be working at the time. See you, then – JW_

She saw there was a new message before that one.

_I forgot to ask you, are you coming tomorrow? It will be at 10 o'clock. Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft will be there as well – JW_

Molly frowned and swallowed hard. _Sorry, John,_ she thought, and started typing back.

_I'm so sorry John, but that's not going to be possible. I'll have to be at Bart's. I'm really sorry. Tell me if I can help you with anything else. – Molly_

Molly sighed and was about to plug her earphones when Sherlock interjected:

"Give me the key to your car."

Molly stared at him in disbelief. She couldn't believe he was going to deliberately ignore the "don't go out" rule.

"Sherlock, you know you can't go out."

"I'm not, I'm just going to fetch the bag that is inside your car's trunk. I want to shower and my clothes are in there."

Molly just stared at him.

"Really, Molly, I'm not going anywhere. You are already in your pajamas, the most logical and less troublesome thing to do is to let me fetch it myself."

Hesitantly, she searched for the key that was inside her purse and gave it to Sherlock.

"I'll be watching you, though."

Sherlock stood up at once, completely forgetting his body was still aching.

"Ouch!"

"Easy, Sherlock." Molly eyed him worriedly.

Sherlock said nothing, just walked to the coat rack, grabbed his coat and left the flat.

_Now, let's see how my dear brother's dogs are working, shall we? _Sherlock thought as he descended the stairs to the street. The key Molly had handed to him clearly belonged to a Renault and as there was just one nearby, he went straight to it. Sherlock opened the car trunk deliberately slowly, taking his time to assess his surroundings. There was one man occasionally leaning on a nearby car, two other men walking close together across the street. There surely would be others, watching him from afar.

Sherlock decided it was the most he could make without acting suspiciously. He went straight back to Molly's flat with the bag in one hand.

* * *

"Holmes", Mycroft said as he picked up his mobile.

"It's Sherlock Holmes, sir. He went out for about three minutes, opened Ms. Hooper car trunk and retrieved his bag before returning to the flat."

"Didn't he do anything else?"

"No, sir."

"It took him three whole minutes to retrieve a single bag?" Mycroft's tone was a bit ironic.

"That's right, sir." The man's tone, in return, was a bit nervous.

Mycroft chuckled.

"In all truth, he was the one watching you. I know what he is up to. He will go out tomorrow to his own funeral."

"We can stop him, sir."

"Well, you can watch him, but once he has a plan to escape the flat you won't be able to tell he is gone until it is too late. Just make sure no one suspicious threatens either himself or Ms. Hooper."

"Understood, sir."

Mycroft hung up and sighed. He was home now, after working almost two full days straight. He needed to rest. As he shrugged off his coat and put it on the coat rack he was having a million thoughts, one of them being that he now knew that Sherlock knew that there were some things he didn't tell him and that he would try to make him talk by facing him tomorrow at the funeral. Not that Sherlock could easily make him spill the beans, but Mycroft had to tell him for his own safety. He owed it to his brother, and he would help him as much as he could. He also now knew that Sherlock knew that he knew about Sherlock's plot, so tomorrow he would have to deceive John to get to talk to his brother. Oh well.

* * *

Sherlock emerged out of the bathroom in a navy blue silk robe and matching pajama bottoms. Molly was sitting on the sofa, reading and listening to music on her mobile and automatically looked at the direction of the door that just opened. If it was possible, Sherlock looked even better: it was like the shower was invigorating. She realized she was staring at him when he finally said:

"What?"

**A Thousand Years (by Christina Perri)**

_Heart beats fast  
Colors and promises  
How to be brave  
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall  
But watching you stand alone  
All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow  
One step closer_

"Hmm? Oh, nothing". Molly blushed deeply and resumed her attention on the book.

"Why do you read Jane Austen?" Sherlock said a minute later.

_I have died everyday waiting for you  
Darling don't be afraid I have loved you  
For a thousand years  
I'll love you for a thousand more_

"Um…because I like her novels. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite. The plot, the characters and the depiction of British society of the early 1800's are all very nice, along with the narrative."

"Sounds dull. Romantic novels are useless, you know. There's nothing practical you can learn from them, and Austen's novels are even more useless because the society behavior depicted in them can't be applied to contemporaneity. So why bother fill your brain with useless information about people that never existed and won't add anything consistent to your knowledge?"

_Time stands still  
Beauty in all she is  
I will be brave  
I will not let anything take away  
What's standing in front of me  
Every breath  
Every hour has come to this  
One step closer_

Molly chuckled. Sherlock raised his eyebrows a little.

"I guess you are right, as always. But I still like it. I think it's because of all the drama…to root for the characters that are meant to be together to actually end up together."

"What's the point in that? You know that Austen's novels consist on the main female character marrying at the end. You know they will be together, so what's the point?"

_I have died everyday waiting for you  
Darling don't be afraid I have loved you  
For a thousand years  
I'll love you for a thousand more_

"The point is the sentiment, Sherlock. The feelings felt by the characters that can be understood and almost felt by the reader as well."

They shared a long stare. She could see the confusion on his face, like the concept was impossible to understand, and she could feel she was starting to feel sad because of that.

_And all along I believed I would find you  
Time has brought your heart to me  
I have loved you for a thousand years  
I love you for a thousand more_

_One step closer  
One step closer_

"But it's so predictable! How can you stand it?"

"You think it's predictable because love has the same concept for everyone, but it is different every time you feel it because no relationship is exactly the same." After a few seconds, she added "Well, anyway, I'm off to bed. Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, Molly."

With that, Molly stood up, put a bookmarker in the book and then put it on the coffee table, turned around and strolled in the direction of her room, shutting the door.

Sherlock glanced at his watch. 23:15. He would still have to wait several hours until he could go to his funeral. He didn't have much to put his thinking on, except that Moriarty wouldn't just fall like he did: he must have some backup plan. Basically, Sherlock was stuck. All of this was driving him crazy.

Sherlock fetched the painkiller pills in the kitchen counter drawer and took one, or three – he didn't really pay attention and didn't really care. He had to shut up his mind for the sake of his sanity. As a plus, they would ease the physical pain. He then proceeded to the guest room and then on to bed, spreading his arms and legs in a star shape.

* * *

As soon as Molly closed the door she could feel a trail of tears going its way down her face. _Damn you. Damn you, Sherlock, for being so smart and gorgeous and so ridiculously out of my league,_ she thought.

"Having him here is going to be hell. Nevertheless, I would do this a thousand times over if it would mean to help him." Molly said to herself as she silently crawled into bed, curling into a ball and letting sleep win over.

_I have died everyday waiting for you  
Darling don't be afraid I have loved you  
For a thousand years  
I'll love you for a thousand more_

_And all along I believed I would find you  
Time has brought your heart to me  
I have loved you for a thousand years  
I'll love you for a thousand more_


	5. Trouble

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss' amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

**Sidenote:** So it's 23:45 (GMT -3) of Tuesday, May 1st, and the chapter 5 is up, as promised. I hope you like it. It might take me a few more days – maybe even a whole week – to update again, but I'll do it as soon as I can. Please keep reviewing, your thoughts are very important and deeply appreciated.

* * *

**Music for a dead man**

Chapter 5: Trouble

Sherlock woke groggily to the sound of steps and then soon afterwards he heard a faint bang. Molly had just left the flat. He glanced at his watch: it was 8:30 in the morning. He tried to sit up and surprisingly, his head didn't protest. Sherlock also felt his body much less sore, like yesterday was just a long passed memory.

Oh, that really lifted his spirits. Actually, he was in such a good mood that he felt that familiar pain to the pitch of his stomach, indicating that he was hungry. Sherlock decided for a quick shower first and breakfast second.

* * *

"Morning, John dear", said Mrs. Hudson as she entered 221B with a tray of muffins, bread, cream cheese and jam.

"I've brought you one of your favorites."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson", said John as he fetched the tray and put it on the coffee table.

"Oh, it's nothing, really, child. How did you sleep?"

"Well enough, Mrs. Hudson, thank you for asking." Actually it was a lie, he had not slept at all. John was getting increasingly introspective and in his head she didn't really need to know all about it.

"My hip bothered me a good deal, but I managed to get some sleep."

"I see. What have you been taking to fight the pain?"

"Oh, some painkillers and a calcium supplement recommended by my doctor."

"Right. Let me know if it gets any worse."

She nodded and they just sat in companionable silence for the rest of the meal.

* * *

It was 9:10 and Sherlock had already fixed himself some bread and whatever atrocious brand of coffee Molly had. He decided to leave the flat now and take a longer yet safer path to the cemetery. He would also take the opportunity to contact the homeless network and catch up with whatever important that had happened while he was out.

As soon as Sherlock stepped outside, he took in the changes that happened in a 12-hour timespan: he didn't see anyone following or watching him closely and as he looked up he could see a surveillance camera turning in his direction. He smirked at that, as Mycroft's intentions were very clear in his mind: _I'm helping you out, but I'll be watching you._

Sherlock walked in the shade through alleys and aimed for paths he knew not many people would be passing by. Fifteen minutes later or so, a girl he recognized as one of the homeless network appeared in a corner, jogging in his direction. As he watched her, Sherlock stopped walking when he was about to reach the girl. Giving him an iPhone, she said simply: "I was told to give you this."

"And who asked you to do it?" Sherlock had a fairly good idea it had been Mycroft, but he needed to be sure.

"He didn't say. He just came out of nowhere in a black car."

"Ah, I see."

When the woman was about to turn and leave, Sherlock interjected:

"Is the Baker Street network still up?"

"Yes, it is."

"Perfect." Fumbling with the phone, he took note of its number. He opened his wallet and gave the woman a £50 bill as he instructed:

"Take note of this number and tell the network to keep watch on 221B. I also would like a weekly report on John Watson. Tell me at once it anything out of the ordinary happens."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"No, that would be all."

"All right." The girl resumed her walk and Sherlock did the same.

* * *

Mycroft was just in the corner of Baker Street when his mobile rang.

"Holmes."

"Sherlock Holmes received the phone, sir."

"Good. Confirm his location and send him a car."

"Understood, sir." With that, Mycroft hung up and got out of the car, as he had just arrived at 221B. Mrs. Hudson was the one to welcome him at the door as John Watson was going down the stairs.

"Dr. Watson", greeted Mycroft with a sweet but discreet smile.

"Mycroft.", was all that John managed to reply. He still was mad at Mycroft because he sold Sherlock over to Moriarty and thus, in many ways, that made him responsible for Sherlock's death.

"Shall we go now, then?" said Mycroft as he motioned in the direction of the car. John said nothing, just went straight inside, followed by Mrs. Hudson.

* * *

Sherlock didn't have to walk much further to see a car pulling over in his direction. The driver got out and opened the door for him.

"What's this?"

"Car from Mr. Holmes to Mr. Holmes."

"Not interested." Sherlock started to resume his walk when the man interjected:

"He said you would say as much, so he's got a message for you. 'Please, Sherlock.'"

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, looking at the man with an expression of disbelief and amusement.

"Mycroft actually said **please**? To **me**?" And then he started giggling. The man just stared at him, a bit confused.

"He also said there's a good reason for you to come. Please, sir, I'm just doing my job."

Sherlock squinted his eyes almost unperceptively and a couple of seconds later, he started for the car.

"I see. I'm coming, then."

* * *

Mrs. Hudson and John sat in silence in the car on its way to the cemetery. Their minds were somewhere else and they only realized they have arrived when the car stopped and Mycroft held the door open for them. They just got out of the car, not a single word being said.

Mycroft led the way through all the tombstones, just a couple steps ahead of the grooming duo. About halfway of the path, Mycroft said:

"He has already been buried."

John looked a bit confused, and replied:

"But I thought he would be buried today. What happened?"

"I just planted a false track. I've arranged his burial as soon as it was possible. I wouldn't take chances for anyone to have a glimpse at his deceased body. The coffin was all locked up due to the ugly mess his head was. I hope you can understand, John." At that last sentence, Mycroft stopped in his tracks and turned around to face them. He had a grim expression on his face. John, in return, was feeling the rage building yet again but, once he gave it second thought, realized this was for the best. He already had seen Sherlock's bloodied body on the ground just a couple days earlier and honestly he didn't know if he could handle watching Sherlock being buried.

"Of course.", John replied, with a sad but resigned expression. He noticed Mycroft's gaze somewhere in the distance, though he couldn't be sure if he was looking at something or just thinking – and frankly, he didn't care at all. Mycroft was right now one of the few people John felt like spanking, and happily doing so, if given the chance. He most likely would go to prison, but right now, he didn't give a shit about it. All he really wanted was to run, to escape, to find out all this has been a carefully arranged, Sherlock ranked morbid deception.

"I'll leave you two for now. Excuse me.", said Mycroft as he started at the direction of the car.

* * *

Sherlock arrived at the cemetery. The car stopped a good fifty yards behind Mycroft's car. Getting out of the car, he quickly arranged to stay undercover, doing his best to stay out of sight by walking under trees and behind tall bushes and big tombstones. A couple minutes passed and he could see Mycroft strolling in his direction. They stopped behind a big tombstone that was under an even bigger tree.

**Trouble (by Coldplay)**

_Oh no, I see,  
The spider web is tangled up with me  
And I lost my head  
The thought of all the stupid things I'd said_

They shared a long, calculated stare. It was like a mental game of chess: both knew what happened to the other one in the past 24 hours – their deduction skills could tell them that much. Both were very intelligent and – more due to their extraordinary skills than to the knowledge that comes with bonding – they could see exactly what each other would be thinking about said deductions. None was attempting to make the first move, and they both knew it. Someone had to give in or they would stay like that all day long. After what seemed like minutes – but in truth didn't last longer than 30 seconds or so, due to the ridiculously fast pace their brains worked – Mycroft dropped his gaze with a sigh and took a small step forward. Looking up again after a few seconds, he said:

"I'm sorry, brother."

_Oh no, what's this?  
The spider web,and I'm caught in the middle  
So I turn to run  
And thought of all the stupid things I'd done_

_And I never meant to cause you trouble  
I never meant to do you wrong  
And ah, well if I ever caused you trouble  
Oh, no I never meant to do you harm_

Sherlock squinted his eyes and then frowned, even if just a little.

"It's quite all right. One man isn't worth the safety of 62 million people. He was increasingly becoming a matter of national security. I get it. And you should as well just get it over with."

_Oh no, I see  
The spider web,and it's me in the middle  
So I twist and turn  
But__ here am I in my little bubble_

"He was surely something else. Not quite like anything the UK – or the world – have witnessed before. I was wrong to let him slip, but then again, there wasn't much I could do about it; I had to put the country before myself, before anyone. I wish you could understand how deeply sorry I am, Sherlock."

_Singing out  
I never meant to cause you trouble,  
I never meant to do you wrong,  
And ah, well if I ever caused you trouble  
Oh, no I never meant to do you harm_

_They spun a web for me  
They spun a web for me  
They spun a web for me_

There was a moment of silence. A minute passed and Sherlock decided this was the time.

"He surely was. But he's not totally dealt with, is he? A man like him doesn't just die and disappear like he did. He must have something; a legacy, a network with sinister branches that we don't fully know. What is it, Mycroft? What do you know?"

Mycroft swallowed hard. He knew this would happen. To hell with classified, national security matter information.

"The legacy, as you put it, has a name: Sebastian Moran. He is a former colonel of the British Army who was forced out of the army in 2006. He was serving in Iraq in that same year, mainly in the city of Basra, when he was sent to the border of Iraq with Iran in an operation with a good other 350 men to prevent the Iranians from supplying weapons to the Shiite militias in Iraq. He started behaving a strange way, as his superiors said, with irrational violence towards Iraqi civilians and fellow British soldiers alike. There were no scandals, but to prevent them from happening it was decided Moran was too much under stress in the Orient and thus was sent back to England, having a forced retirement. He still quite young, though, about your age; he's also very intelligent and one of the best marksmen in the whole world. In short, he is in all probability a high-risk time bomb. All we know right now is that he has had contact with Moriarty for at least a year. Right now, he is still in Baker Street."

Sherlock widened his eyes a bit in surprise and…something else. Fear for John's and Mrs. Hudson's safety, perhaps. Mycroft could read his reactions all very well, and interjected before Sherlock could say anything.

"He's keeping low profile. I don't think he will do them harm – at least not for now, and especially because you are dead."

"I see."

There was a long silence, and as Mycroft looked in the direction of Sherlock's grave, he could see Mrs. Hudson slowly walking in the direction of the car.

"Well, better get going." He turned, walked a couple steps and then stopped. He turned on his heels and gave Sherlock a very serious look.

"You have to keep low profile too. Don't allow yourself to be seen at all costs, Sherlock. I know I can't stop you – and you know how much I wish I could – but please, don't go out, don't phone, don't have any contact with people outside that flat if it's not necessary. I'll keep you informed on Moriarty's file."

"You don't even need to tell me that. I'm not known for my social skills; on the contrary, I'm better known for my lack of them.", Sherlock grinned.

"Also, Sherlock, she's not John. Don't forget that."

"Of course she's not John, Mycroft. That's elementary."

"What I mean is…you can come to me whenever you want – but we both know you're not going to do that – so don't mess things up with Molly. She's a bright young woman, and also very brave to go through all this just to help you lie low. She's a **friend**, Sherlock, so treat her as such."

Sherlock said nothing, just gave him a curt nod and a second later, Mycroft resumed his walk.

* * *

"There's all these stuff…all his science equipment. I left them in boxes, I don't know what needs doing. I thought I would take them to a school. Would you?", said Mrs. Hudson in a sad voice.

"I can't go back to the flat again, not at the moment.", said John in a sad but steady voice and after a moment, he continued:

"I'm angry."

"That's ok, John. It's nothing unusual in that, that's the way he made everyone feel. All the marks on the table, and the noise, firing guns at half past one in the morning!" Mrs. Hudson's tone was changing from sad to an increasingly angry one.

"Yeah."

"Bloody specimens in my fridge – imagine, keeping bodies where there's food! And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings!"

"Listen, I'm not actually that angry, ok?"

"Ok, I'll leave you alone to, you know…" Mrs. Hudson walked away in the direction of the car, trying to suppress her sobs. As she left, John took a moment to organize his thoughts.

"Um…hmm. You…You told me once that you were not a hero. Um, there were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man and the most human…human being…that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so… there." He was trying, and failing miserably to keep his voice even. He walked a couple steps forward to touch Sherlock's tombstone.

"I was so alone and I owe you so much." With that, John started walking away but a few seconds later he turned on his heels and said, facing Sherlock's tombstone:

"But please, there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't…be…dead. Would you do it just for me? Just stop it. Stop this."

John was an emotional wreck. He was trying very hard not to cry, but couldn't stop the tears from trailing down his face. He took a few seconds to breathe and look presentable so he could give his friend a final salute. He turned around, now going for good, and never knowing that only a few yards away, Sherlock was watching him.

* * *

Mycroft met Mrs. Hudson halfway in the direction of the car, putting a hand on her right side, in a sideways embrace.

"Oh dear, I can't believe he is gone. And now John, too, it seems…"

"He's moving out of Baker Street? Where is he going to stay?"

"I don't know, dear. He has a sister, right? Maybe he will stay with her."

"I see. Mrs. Hudson, in this case, I would like you to keep the flat just as it is. I'll pay the rent to keep 221B, even if no one lives there."

"All right, but why?", said Mrs. Hudson with a confused expression.

Mycroft shrugged.

"It's what is left of Sherlock, isn't it? I would like to keep that place for as long as you would have it for rent."

"Never thought you cared that much, Mycroft."

"Well, I always have. Sometimes things are not always like they seem to be; your eyes can easily deceive you."

Mycroft heard footsteps behind them; John was now just a couple yards away. He took in his grim yet hard expression: John Watson was determined to start a new page in his life or die trying.

"Shall we go, then?", said Mycroft as he was holding the door for John and Mrs. Hudson. In return, they said nothing, just stepped silently in the car, trying to leave all the sorrow behind.


	6. Believe in you

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss' amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

**Sidenote:** Ok…first, I need to apologize. This actually took two weeks instead of one because basically a) I had to find a song that could fit well and b) I didn't think this chapter would be so hard to write because I have pretty much the whole story in my head but there are just these small things here and there, that are like bridges that will just make all the difference, and they were really difficult to organize in a way that won't make the story too much of a cliché. For you who like fluff filled stories, I'm very sorry to disappoint you, this is not the way this story will go. It will have fluff eventually if the moment calls for it, but, well, this is a Sherlock fic after all, so expect comedy and specially drama. Though this is a Sherlock x Molly pairing fic, it won't be just about them, as you could see in the previous chapters: I'm also writing Mycroft, Moran, John, Mrs. Hudson and everybody else that I think is important. Please keep reviewing, your thoughts are very important and deeply appreciated, and special thanks to Hellscrimsonangel and PurpleYin (in no particular order except alphabetical).

* * *

**Music for a dead man**

Chapter 6: Believe in you

Molly glanced at her watch. It was half past noon and she was starting to get hungry.

_Just this one and then I'll go eat something, _she thought as she was examining a body on the autopsy table. Once she was done with it, she started downstairs to the cafeteria. When she entered the hall and saw Mycroft standing just a few steps in front of her, with arms crossed and his umbrella hooked on his elbow, she suddenly felt her body tense: is it about Sherlock? What happened? Is he all right?

"Yes, he is fine, Dr. Hooper.", said Mycroft, like Molly had voiced her thoughts.

"Why are you here?"

"Will you have lunch with me?"

Remembering what Sherlock said about her having a choice, she tried:

"Do I have a choice?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows just slightly and smiled.

"Yes, of course you do."

Now that was tempting. Molly wondered if it was actually legal to deliberately ignore the head of the MI-6. On second thought, Mycroft wouldn't have come to her if he thought the subject wasn't delicate enough. _Oh well, _she thought. _Better go with him._

"Good choice", he said when she was about to answer, and then carried on with a "Come, I know a good place.", as he strolled in the direction of the door, with Molly on his heels.

* * *

Sherlock was now back to Molly's flat. Well, outside her flat would be more accurate. He didn't have the key and as he started searching for it, it wasn't at all hard to find. Pulling aside the small rug in front of the door, he located a loose part of the wooden floor and lifted it; surely enough, the key was easily spotted. He opened the door and put everything back as it was before finally entering the flat.

"All right, where is it?", said Sherlock to himself as he put his coat on the coat rack and searched for Molly's laptop. He quickly scanned the living room and then proceeded to Molly's bedroom. He opened the door, went straight to the direction of the bed and tried the nightstand drawers. Bingo. He fetched the laptop, kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable on her bed, with his back resting on the headboard.

He found that Molly had a guest account set up on her laptop, so he just went straight to it. He clicked the icon of the internet browser and started googling for anything relevant related to Sebastian Moran.

* * *

John had finished packing up. He wanted to leave 221B as quickly as possible. Mrs. Hudson was watching him with a sad face. John turned, facing her, and said:

"Right. I'm going now, Mrs. Hudson, but I intend to be back in… two months or so. I'll be back to help you with his stuff when I think I can do it. Do you mind keeping the flat as it is for a couple more months?"

"Oh dear, it's all right. Mycroft offered to pay the rent of 221B for an indeterminate amount of time, so it will stay just as it is for God knows how long."

Now that was something John wasn't expecting.

"Mycroft? Really?"

"Yes. I was surprised, too."

"Yes…well…it's all settled then. If you need anything, just call me. I better go now, Harry is waiting outside."

"All right, dear. I hope you get better soon. That we all do."

"Yes. Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson." John pulled Mrs. Hudson in an embrace and a few seconds later he gave a final, longing look to 221B and strolled outside.

* * *

"Would you like anything else, sir?", asked the waiter as he was retrieving the used plates from the table.

"I would like the strawberry cheesecake. What would you like, miss Hooper?", said Mycroft, turning his attention from the waiter to the doctor.

"Nothing for me, thank you."

Molly waited for the waitress to go and resumed their conversation.

"So...let's recapitulate: Moriarty's threat isn't over, because there's this weirdo Moran who is very likely to avenge his death, which puts John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and especially Sherlock in danger. Maybe even myself. Lovely. How exactly I am supposed to tell him all this?"

"You're not", Mycroft retorted, and then continued:

"He already knows everything. I told him this morning in the funeral."

"You…in the…wait. Are you telling me Sherlock **left** the flat?"

"Precisely."

Molly had a very funny expression on her face. She couldn't believe it. Mycroft was actually ok with Sherlock breaking the rules imposed by Mycroft himself. If Sherlock wouldn't obey someone as important and powerful as Mycroft, how the hell was **she** supposed to have any control over **him**?

"I wish I could make him behave properly, that I could stop him from being a threat to himself. But I can't, miss Hooper, and I really doubt that you could; we can, however, break his fall. That's what we're there for."

The waiter returned with the cheesecake and Mycroft signed the bill. He eyed the dessert happily, like it was something incomparably wonderful and made by God Himself.

"To break his fall…", said Molly pensively.

"He had improved, if only a bit, Dr. Hooper."

"What do you mean?"

"Feelings. Acknowledging his humanity, his weaknesses. He spent so much time alone that he nearly forgot those in that closed up, scientific mind of his. John surely did him good and I am pretty sure that you will too."

"I'm not John."

"That much is obvious, miss Hooper."

"Then wha –"

"A friend. Someone that will listen to his talking and deducing, that will shut up when he doesn't speak at all, that will put up with his antics and possibly infuriating behavior. He will most likely change you more than you can change him, but it has to be done. He must not be on his own."

Molly sighed heavily.

"Really, Mycroft, what **is** Sherlock Holmes? His bluntness as he analyses people is not normal; his own analysis methods, for God's sake, are **very **unorthodox. He's so secretive about himself that I don't think I know him much, not nearly enough to actually help him. Is he gay? I don't see him dating, and I know him for at least a couple years! What about his friends? Which people may and which may not know about his current situation?"

"Haha, no, Dr. Hooper, he is not gay. He just decided long ago to not let women establish a territory in that cold mind of his. He finds them too distracting and potentially dangerous, so he decided to live his life in a bubble, fully dedicated to science. He told mother once he wanted to be a pirate when he was grown-up and he had a couple crushes in his early teens; he had a relatively normal childhood and early adolescence, but the signs that he was different were obvious. We tried to do something about it…to help him…but he is Sherlock. Pretty much no one nor nothing can force him to do something he doesn't want to do. As for his friends…you and I are the only ones he can count on for the moment. I am actually monitoring John, Lestrade and you as well from a certain distance, so we can know where you are and send help, if the situation requires."

Molly took a couple minutes to let all that information sink in. It was just enough time for Mycroft to finish his cake.

"Help when the situation requires…like a tactic team in case of kidnapping or a fully equipped chopper to bring the wounded to a hospital?"

"Yes, something like that, but we also work with counter-intelligence so we can try to prevent Moran from doing whatever he plans to do." Said Mycroft, now standing, and motioning to the car as he finished with a "Shall we go back now, Dr. Hooper?"

Molly nodded and walked in the direction of the car. Mycroft entered last and shut the door, telling the driver to go to Bart's.

"Now, miss Hooper, take note of this number. You can call me if you need anything, and I shall help you as much as I can; I know how troublesome Sherlock can be."

"All right." was all Molly replied, but something Mycroft said before in the restaurant incited her curiosity. A couple minutes of silence passed as she couldn't hold back her curiosity anymore.

"What exactly did you mean when you said you tried to help him, to do something about his…behavior?"

"Oh, you caught that, didn't you?" said Mycroft with a smile. He then put on a serious expression and turned to talk to Molly.

"We…can't be sure, of course, as he was never officially diagnosed, but we have reasons to believe that he is bipolar and possibly a maniac depressive."

Molly was a bit shocked. Of course, she knew something could be wrong with him, but she never thought it could be that bad.

"**We **as in, you and Sherlock?"

"No, Dr. Hooper, **we **as in mummy and I. Sherlock, just like any mentally unstable person, just claimed that he was perfectly fine, that it was part of who he was so we never had the chance to make him have an appointment with a psychiatrist."

"I…see."

They remained silent after that. Really, what else was supposed to be said? About five minutes later they were already back at Bart's. Mycroft held the door open for her to leave.

"Have a good day, Dr. Hooper."

"Thank you. You too, Mycroft."

* * *

"Alpha-one, Moran left his house. He is heading to 221B."

"Understood, Beta-two. Put the Beta unit on alert. We're repositioning the surveillance cameras to get a better view."

The closest cameras to 221B were now facing the direction of the man, who was buzzing the door.

"Hello", said Mrs. Hudson as she answered the door.

"Hi. I just saw the guy that used to live here leaving with his stuff…can you tell me if it's a trip or is the flat available for rent again?"

"He is moving out, but the flat isn't available. It is already taken."

"Oh. Really?"

"Yes. Sorry."

"I…see. Do you know how long it will be taken?"

"It's indeterminate."

"Right. Well, sorry to bother you, ma'am. Goodbye."

"Goodbye.", said Mrs. Hudson as she closed the door. _What an odd man_, she thought to herself.

* * *

It was seven something in the evening when Molly was home again. The sun had just set. She opened the door to her flat and put her coat on the coat rack, noticing Sherlock's own coat was there as well. She now remembered she never gave him the key, which made her conclude he must have found the one that was under the rug. _I wonder if I should put it somewhere else…well, he would probably find it anyway._

She also noticed that Sherlock was not in the living room and that the door to her bedroom was slightly opened. _Really, Sherlock? __**My**__ room? What the hell are you doing there?, _Molly thought to herself and headed to her room. She poked her head inside just enough to see him lying comfortably on her bed, eyes closed, hands pressing flat against each other, with fingers slightly pressing his chin, like he was praying. Except that he wasn't because Sherlock isn't really a religious man. And…her laptop? Yes, definitely **her** laptop, closed and resting on his belly. If Sherlock wasn't trying her patience and completely ignoring her privacy, she could actually appreciate the sight.

"Would you mind fetching my phone?"

Molly jumped. She didn't see that coming.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I hardly sleep, Molly, especially when I have interesting things to occupy my mind. My phone, please?"

"Where is it?"

"In my trousers. Right pocket."

Molly swallowed. _Why doesn't __**he **__fetch it himself? It's in his pocket, for God's sake!, _Molly thought to herself. She waited a few seconds and, as Sherlock didn't move an inch and isn't really into jokes, she was convinced that he was serious. Hesitantly, she bent a little and slipped her hand in his pocket, handing the mobile to him at once.

Saying nothing, Sherlock started typing and immediately after he sent the message he slipped the phone back in his pocket, resuming his initial position. Molly was frowning a little at him.

"Sherlock, I know you had to go today, but it would **really **make me relieved if you could just stay indoors. No exposure. Understand?"

"I see Mycroft told you about it. At lunch, perhaps? And as he already told me to keep low profile and that I **know** I should stay indoors, you don't really need to give me the same talk over and over, Molly. How much did he tell you about Moran?"

"That he had a forced retirement from the army and is still a potential threat to John, Mrs. Hudson, you and possibly me as well. Did you find out anything else?" she asked, eyeing the laptop and then looking at him again. He opened his eyes and smiled.

"Absolutely nothing."

"…Right. Ok then. I uh, need to shower and change, so…"

"What?"

Molly was looking at him like it was obvious – because, well, to anyone else it was, but then again, this was Sherlock – and Sherlock looked a bit confused.

"Oh. All right." He finally said after a few seconds, when realization dawned on him.

"And by the way, Sherlock, I would appreciate it **very much **if you stopped using **my** things without permission. There's a little thing called _personal space_ that seems to be **impossible** for you to understand. I…I'm not John, Sherlock. I'm Molly, and I'm a woman. Things will be different from now on. You can't just get in my room or use my laptop as you please."

"Of course. I'm…sorry, Molly."

Sherlock felt awkward. He wasn't used to feeling that way. That made him a little nervous. Also, Molly looked like she was feeling uncomfortable. Oh well. Better get out. He got up and walked out of her bedroom. Once he was out, Molly closed her eyes and sighed heavily. _It must be done, Molly, it must be done_, she thought to herself as she locked the door and walked to the bathroom.

* * *

"Welcome home, brother."

Harry Watson opened the door to her flat so John could come inside. It had been ages since John paid a visit to his sister's – and formerly, also his own – apartment. Little had changed, though.

"Thank you, Harry.", John said simply, as he started to the direction of his room. Harry let him be and just said "I'll be organizing a few things so I'll be in the living room if you need me."

John nodded and closed the door, dropping his bags to the floor and shrugging out of his jacket and went straight to bed. He wasn't sleepy, but he felt drained. He just allowed himself to close his eyes and try to relax.

When he opened his eyes again, it was all dark. He went to the door, completely forgetting his bags were on the way, tripping over then and hitting his head on the handle.

"Ouch! Damn it!"

John stood up slowly with one hand to his forehead and the other groping the door in search for the handle. He found it and a second later, he was walking to the living room and almost bumped into Harry.

"God, John, are you all right? I heard a bang coming from your room and…sweet Jesus, is this **blood**?" Harry was talking with an increasingly alarmed tone. John instinctively looked at the hand that was pressed to his forehead and surely, there was blood on it.

"Yes it is. I'm fine, Harry. W-what time is it?"

"Almost eight. You were out for a good time. Are you hungry? Lasagna is almost ready."

"I see…yes, I will join you shortly, just give me a minute to fix this" he said pointing to his forehead as he walked to the bathroom.

* * *

Sherlock was pacing the flat impatiently. He didn't have much to focus on. His knowledge about Moran was limited, he just got lectured about using Molly's stuff, he didn't have his laptop with him, nor his violin.

"For God's sake!" he cried, grasping his hair and almost pulling it out.

"What happened, Sherlock?", Molly said, getting out of her room. She was wearing an old, plain white t-shirt and a knee-lenght jeans shorts.

"Nothing."

"Well, it's obviously something."

"If **something** did happen I wouldn't be so **frustrated**. I **really** did mean that **nothing** happened. Nothing **is** happening, no clues to follow, **nothing at all**!"

Sherlock sank angrily in the sofa, with his arms embracing his legs, pulling them to his chest and dropping his head back. He had his eyes tightly shut and was nearly growling.

"Tea?" Molly asked with the calmest voice she could manage.

"Yes, please."

Molly went to the kitchen and Sherlock heard his mobile beeping. New text message. He looked it up. There has been a reply.

_Any news on 221B? –SH_

_John Watson moved out. Went to live with his sister. –HN_

Sherlock grinned. The kettle was boiling and Molly was going back to the living room when she saw that in a matter of a minute Sherlock's mood had changed from water to wine. He was grinning, and even looked excited. She couldn't help but ask what had just happened.

"What is it?"

"John. He's no longer in 221B anymore. Went to live with his sister."

"Oookaaay…so?" Molly couldn't understand how Sherlock was so happy about that.

"So, now I can fetch my stuff. You can, I mean."

"Oh. What kind of stuff, exactly?" She eyed him suspiciously. Sherlock had the weirdest things in his flat.

"Just my violin, my microscope, and few books…for now."

The kettle was screaming. Molly turned her attention back to it and started pouring the water on two cups. She then went back to the sofa and handed one cup to Sherlock.

"Ok…I'll call Mrs. Hudson."

"Please do.", said Sherlock, happily sipping at his tea.

Molly sighed. She smiled slightly and then frowned. That made Sherlock very confused. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"What is it, Molly?" he asked, curiously.

"You. I mean, Mycroft. I mean…he warned me you would be just like that – a very changeable mood. One minute you can be frustrated and closed up and the other you are all smiles."

Sherlock smiled very subtly.

"I see…what else did you talk about? That I'm mentally unstable, possibly a maniac?" He was laughing now.

"Yes, something like that."

"I'm perfectly fine." He nearly growled, gritting his teeth.

**Believe in You (by Amanda Marshall)**

_Somewhere there's a river  
Looking for a stream  
Somewhere there's a dreamer  
Lookin' for a dream  
Somewhere there is a drifter  
Trying to find his way  
Somewhere someone's waiting  
To hear somebody say_

"No, Sherlock, you are not fine. But that's ok, because nobody is perfect. You've fallen, and I'm here to…break your fall. You are not a consulting detective anymore, at least for now, and I'm here to help you not just with keeping you in low profile but with everything else. I told you…before. That if you need anything, anything at all, you can have me, that it's all right." The volume of her voice was dropping by the second and her cheeks were growing crimson. At the last sentence, she wasn't looking at Sherlock anymore, she was just staring at the floor.

_I believe in you  
I can't even count the ways that  
I believe in you  
And all I want to do is help you to  
Believe in you_

_Somewhere someone's reachin'  
Trying to grab that rain  
Somewhere there's a silent voice  
Learning how to sing  
Some of us can't move ahead  
We're paralyzed with fear  
And everybody's listening  
Cause we all need to hear_

Sherlock couldn't reply. He was feeling something…something…**weird**. There was a couple minutes of silence, or maybe more, as both resumed drinking their tea. Molly looked at him again and continued:

"I believe in you, Sherlock. You are the most brilliant man I have met and you are everything that **you** think you are and that **I** think you are." She was smiling timidly and now it was his turn to feel his cheeks flushing. He smiled timidly back, not daring to look at her and instead he was concentrating on his tea.

_I believe in you  
I can't even count the ways that  
I believe in you  
And all I want to do is help you to  
Believe in you_

"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't be careful. For your own health and, well, for the sake of my own sanity, you should consider…professional help."

Sherlock was now laughing darkly.

"I don't know what happened to you in the past. You don't need to tell me if you don't want to. Everyone has secrets."

Silence.

"And I know you are scared."

His look was now shooting daggers at her. Sherlock haven't yet replied. This was starting to turn into a monologue.

"Yes, you are, and you know that. Your intelligence won't get lower because of medication, Sherlock. They will just help you have more control over your feelings."

"You got it wrong, Molly, I'm perfectly in control of my feelings. You talk like I'm an emotional wreck. I'm a cold, detached man."

"Which makes sentiments all the more intense, Sherlock. You keep your distance from them, ignoring them, putting them in a box, locked away God knows where, because you want to fill your brain with factual information, clues and everything else that is worth knowing. Don't underestimate feelings, Sherlock, and don't overestimate yourself to the point of thinking you are immune to them, because you're not. You know it, and I've seen it, and that scared me…but here I stand."

_I will hold you up  
I will help you stand  
I will comfort you when you need a friend  
I will be the voice that's calling out_

_I believe in you  
And there are just so many ways that  
I believe in you  
Baby, what else can I do but believe in you  
Believe in you  
All I want to know is you believe - believe in you_

Sherlock sighed, but said nothing. Molly finished her tea and Sherlock did just the same when he saw she was about to stand up. She stood before him and said softly as he handed her his cup:

"Please…consider it. You can talk to me any time you want. I'll be there."

He just looked at her, saying nothing. They shared a long stare that got more and more intense by the second. When it was too much for Molly, she dropped her gaze and put the cups in the kitchen sink. She then went straight to her bedroom, saying as she passed him:

"Good night, Sherlock."

"Good night, Molly."

Sherlock heard her door close and then he let out a long sigh. He immediately heard Molly getting out of her bedroom again with a funny, kind of annoyed face. She then dropped his shoes beside the sofa and went to her bedroom again.

Sherlock wasn't sleepy at all. His mind was racing, thinking about the recent events. Moriarty's death, the threat that Moran now posed, John out of 221B and Molly. Wait – not Molly, _Molly_. Molly as in, his new flat mate that was – he suspected – a mix of John and Mrs. Hudson's annoying personality traits. He couldn't complain much, though. Without her help, he would most likely be truly dead.

_I believe in you, Sherlock, _her voice echoed in his head.

"Thank you, Molly.", he said barely above a whisper. He felt a bolt travelling through his spine, a warmth that irradiated through his body. Now **that **was strange.

He sighed again, feeling frustrated for feeling these foreign emotions. He could see this was about sentiment, a new feeling he couldn't process yet. He was wide awake and doubted very much he would get any sleep, so he decided to read something of no real importance. He went to the bookshelf and pulled the first thing he saw that wasn't a romance. Some comic book. Iron man, it said on the cover. It looked old and – Oh. _What is that?, _Sherlock thought to himself as he saw something that was at the bottom of the shelf, behind the comic books. He took a few other comic books from the shelf so he could remove the book – which revealed itself not to be a book, but an old photo album. As he went through the pages, he saw the same man that was framed on Molly's bedroom wall, along with a much younger Molly, and then a not so much younger Molly with her aging father. The album mostly pictured the two of them, and a woman about Molly's age here and there.

Sherlock didn't know why but he was actually curious about that: Molly's family. Or, to be more accurate, about Molly, except he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge that just yet. Where was her mother? Did she abandon her? Sherlock could see she was not adopted because of genetic traits visibly shared by both her father and herself.

"Hmm…now I've found something to occupy my mind."

_Sorry, Molly, but now I really have to see through your stuff. I hope you won't be mad. Or madder,_ he grinned as he thought to himself.


	7. Paradise

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss' amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

**Sidenote:** Right! So…this is a long chapter. Almost 6,800 words. I had planned to update this on the 23rd but a few things – brainstorm – happened and I felt like I had to write all of this is this chapter. This is a key chapter. Very important. So important in fact that it is 03:50 in the morning local time and I've just finished it. I'm sorry if there are any errors, it's hard to check all the text and not miss an error or two. I hope you like it. Again, thank you all for your reviews, you are all very sweet.

* * *

**Music for a dead man**

Chapter 7: Paradise

Molly woke up. She glanced at her mobile that was on the nightstand. It was seven in the morning. She groaned as she remembered it was Sunday and was about to go back to sleep when she heard noises coming from the living room. For a second she was alarmed – then she remembered that she wasn't alone anymore and that it was probably just Sherlock; which meant, in many ways, that it could be worse than a robber. She wasn't really sleepy anymore so she decided to get up.

Molly exited her bedroom and what she saw was much worse than she thought it would be. She had a horrified expression on her face as she saw her books – that were supposed to be on the bookshelf – on the floor, the coffee table, the sofa and just about anywhere in an arm's length around Sherlock, who was sitting comfortably on her armchair.

"Morning, Molly."

"What the **hell **is this? Actually, never mind. Just clean it up."

"I was a bit bored, so I decided to do some reading, you see."

"Some…yeah, I see."

"Why Iron Man, though?"

"What about him?"

"He's clearly your favorite. Your Iron Man comic books are the ones that were used most."

"Oh. Well, the man's a genius. And brave. And really cares about his friends and protects the ones who are important to him. He's also lonely…I've always felt kinda relatable, like I could understand his feelings. Also, he doesn't wear his underwear over his pants, so that's a plus, because I find that ridiculous."

Sherlock laughed as he understood the joke about Superman. A day ago he wouldn't know anything of it.

"I see."

"I'm serious, though, Sherlock, clean it up."

"Fine.", he said with a sigh.

* * *

"Yes, of course this is Moran. Who did you expect? Barbra Streisand? Yes, this is a secure line. I'm no amateur, stupid. What do you want at this ungodly hour? Yes, it's seven-thirty here. Mind the time zone next time, moron."

Moran was sitting on his sofa, with his legs stretched and resting on the coffee table.

"More weapons? Haven't we already provided you enough?"

He paused and listened. He reached for his coffee that was on the coffee table, took a sip and resumed talking.

"You'll have to come up with something better than that. I have a lot on my mind right now."

Another sip.

"**Now** you're talking. Go on…uh huh. Yeah. All right. I'm coming."

Moran hung up, finished his coffee and fetched his laptop.

_Hmm. I don't remember you. Is that you, Mycroft? Trying to __**spy **__on me?_

Moran grinned at that thought, as he detected another wi-fi connection, with a supposed secret frequency. Well, secret to anyone else but him. Who else would do something like that but Mycroft?

He set the laptop down on the coffee table and walked to the window, opening the blind only an inch. Looking across the street, 221B was dark and almost looked like a ghost house. That was true, in a way, he thought. But still…he wasn't sure. He never saw Sherlock actually hit the ground because of that goddamn truck. Moriarty told him Holmes would fall and he was exactly where he was supposed to be with his .244 Magnum, but Sherlock was very clever. He **could** do something like this…fake his own death. The detective was very much like Moriarty, he knew that. What he wasn't so sure was how to proceed. He never saw it coming: Jim killing himself like that. Jim was so confident, maybe he himself didn't see it coming. He could have killed John right there and then, but his orders were clear: spare John Watson if Sherlock jumps. To think of it, maybe it was for the best. He could use an extra Sherlock Holmes related source by keeping the man alive.

Moran went back to his laptop and started typing an e-mail.

* * *

"I already texted Mycroft. Mrs. Hudson is at 221B, so you can go there and fetch my things.", Sherlock said as he was putting the books back on the shelves.

"Right. I'll just have breakfast and change."

"Oh? I didn't expect you to offer to go at once.", he said with a grin.

"Anything to keep you away from my stuff, Sherlock.", she grinned back.

They shared a long stare. She was sipping at her coffee and he stopped mid motion from arranging the book in the shelves. How many seconds – or maybe minutes – have passed, she couldn't tell. Molly was starting to get really nervous as she was almost finished with her coffee and didn't have anything else to focus her attention. Sherlock, in return, squinted his eyes a bit at her. Again, that warm feeling, like a bolt through his spine. It was obviously related to Molly. He would think about that later, though, because he was starting to feel uncomfortable.

"Why? Are you deliberately keeping something from me, miss Hooper?" he said, turning his gaze to the shelves and resuming putting the books in place.

Molly snorted. She wasn't expecting that **at all.** Sherlock was now looking at her with mixed feelings: confusion, amusement and curiosity.

"We all have something in our past we wish could be forgotten. Something…we rather not remember. I'm sure you understand.", she said, putting her cup in the sink, with her tone changing from surprised to a very serious, almost sad one.

Before Sherlock could say anything else, Molly retreated to her room saying:

"Right…so…I'll be ready to go in a few minutes."

The door to Molly's room closed shut and Sherlock resumed his attention in the books. There were only a few left now and as he was finishing arranging them, he fetched the photo album and put it in place again: behind the Marvel comic books. A minute later Molly reemerged from her room wearing jeans and a ridiculous white and beige sweater that made her look 20 years older.

"Violin, microscope, laptop…what else? You mentioned a few books, right?"

"Just these three are all right. I won't be needing any books right now."

"Ok. I'm going."

* * *

Moran was just finishing packing. He was moving fast, though not in a hurry: a habit he picked from his days at Iraq, to do things fast but with precision. Now, he had to hide a few things. He knew Mycroft would take the opportunity to have his men search his place. This could be tricky, but he knew that the secret to disguise is to know how to hide in plain sight. Plus, Moriarty taught him how to do some upgrades in his flat. He had a false, empty wall behind the wardrobe that would fit his .244 Magnum just perfectly. He would also make the floor a bit loose in a few places so he could fool Mycroft's loyal but not so clever men. He checked the street again through the blind. What he saw wasn't expected at all. A young woman was driving down Baker St. and stopped just in front of 221B. She got out of her car, an old Renault, and knocked twice. A minute later Mrs. Hudson opened the door, greeting her with a smile and a warm hug.

"What the? Who the hell is she? Wait…I guess I remember her…", Moran said to himself.

* * *

"Thanks for receiving me, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh dear, don't mention it. It's good to see you. I'm glad you will help me with these…there's just so many things of his, I don't know what needs doing. John is…grieving as well, but you know how close they were. He just can't come here for the time being."

"Yes, I see."

"Well, just take anything you like, dear."

"Right. Excuse me, Mrs. Hudson"

Molly went through the familiar flat. It was tidy, but Sherlock's presence was still strong. The skull over the fire, the microscope on the kitchen table and other weird stuff in weird places. The laptop was nowhere to be found. She scanned the place again: the living room, the kitchen…nothing. She decided to try his room. Molly walked timidly and slowly entered Sherlock's bedroom. She had never been in there. It was simple: a bed, a wardrobe, a framed periodic table on the wall. And there it was, on his pillow, his laptop. Molly fetched it and went straight back to the living room.

It took Molly two travels to put everything in the car. When she was approaching the car for the second time, she locked eyes with a man who was walking down the street. The sight sent chills down her spine and her heart began to race. The man had such a strong look, like a beast. He held himself high, so he was probably a military. The contact only lasted three seconds or so. The man resumed staring ahead and cut eye contact.

_Now that was strange_, Molly thought to herself. That wasn't just any casual eye contact. What she just felt didn't just happen with any stranger eye contact. It was like the man knew her, or was trying to. Molly pondered if she would ask Sherlock or Mycroft about it.

"Molly?"

Molly jumped. Apparently, she was distracted and Mrs. Hudson was trying, though unsuccessfully, to get her attention.

"Y-Yes?"

"I hope you are holding well. He was a headache, but he was loved and will be missed by us all."

"Oh…yes, of course. I'm doing fine…thank you for everything, Mrs. Hudson."

Molly pulled the older woman in an embrace and a minute later entered the car, driving her way home.

* * *

"Holmes."

"It's Moran, sir. He is out. We tried to track him down but we lost him."

"Was he carrying anything with him?"

"A bag, sir. We already warned the Scotland Yard, the Heathrow Airport and the highway patrol as well. They are on standby, but alert."

"Good."

* * *

"Welcome back, Molly.", Sherlock said with a gleam in his eyes, regarding Molly like a child when his mom gets back with bags on her hands.

"Thanks", she replied, holding the microscope in her hands.

"Allow me.", he said, fetching the microscope from Molly's hands.

The sudden, unexpected closeness sent a bolt through her spine and Molly felt a familiar warmth irradiate through her body. Sherlock had such a strong effect on her, she hated herself for it.

"I'll get the rest.", she said as she turned on her heels and marched downstairs to get the laptop and the violin.

Again, when she reached the flat, Sherlock helped her with his stuff and went straight to his room. A few seconds later he was back in the living room, making himself comfortable on the sofa with his laptop on his lap. Molly was serving herself a glass of water, not out of thirst but out of nervousness. She was shaking slightly. To anyone else it wouldn't be noticeable, but this was Sherlock, and Sherlock did notice.

"What happened, Molly?", he said, squinting his eyes at her, feeling a bit concerned. Not **concerned, **he told himself, just a little worried.

"Uh, nothing, really. Just something strange that happened on my way back."

"What was it?"

"As I was getting back in the car, a man was walking across the street and we locked eyes for a second. He gave me the creeps. I don't know I – I just felt weird. He looked so aggressive."

As Molly remembered the event she felt goose bumps. She was now lost in her thoughts, so lost in fact that she didn't even feel Sherlock approach.

"Six feet tall, carrying himself high?"

Molly jumped a little.

"Y-Yes. I figured he was military or something but…I don't know, he looked like a beast. He gave me the creeps."

"Hm. That could be Moran. Was this him?", Sherlock asked as he handed her a picture of the man that was on his phone.

"Y-Yes…that was definitely him."

Molly froze. She had been just a few feet from the very guy that she was supposed to stay away from. She had her eyes widened and her arms crossed. Sherlock took in her defensive position and immediately was aware there was something else about the man that Molly didn't tell him.

"What is it, Molly? What else about him did you find unusual?"

"He…he looked right through me. Like, a meaningful look, except that I have no clue what it means. I wasn't even sure it **was **him at the time! He…also looked like he was in a bit of a hurry, taking long strides and carrying a medium bag."

**Now** Sherlock was worried. He went very silent, which made Molly nervous.

"Sherlock?", she said in a small voice. What she really meant to say was very clear, even to him, and it was something like _what are we going to do about this?_.

"He's up to something. We don't know what it is yet, but I don't think it has anything to do with me, or any of us."

Molly sighed in relief but was still very tense: she knew whatever he was up to it was no good. Taking in her obviously nervous posture he tried to calm her down, even though he was a bit nervous as well.

"It's all right, Molly, it's ok for now."

"No, Sherlock, it's not ok.", she said with the calmest voice she could manage.

Sherlock chuckled as he remembered a very similar reaction months ago with John in the Baskerville's facility.

"What?", Moly asked, a bit alarmed. She wondered if Sherlock was starting to lose it.

"Nothing, I, uh…just something I remembered. But really, Molly, he will probably just keep tabs on you from now on. When he gets back from whatever he is doing, I mean."

"_JUST _KEEP TABS ON ME? _JUST?"_

Molly's voice went up an octave. She couldn't believe Sherlock could be so calm about something so serious.

"Sherlock, you **do** realize that by keeping tabs on me it will make all the harder to hide you from the world, don't you?"

"Yes, but you won't do that alone, Molly, don't forget that."

Now where the hell did **that** come from? Sherlock was starting to feel alien to himself. This was not him at all. When did he get so…sympathetic and comprehensive?

"You know what, I need some air." Molly said, starting for the door.

"What? Where are you going?"

"_OUT!_", she said as she slammed the door, leaving a very puzzled looking Sherlock behind.

* * *

"Hi, dad. Sorry, it's been a while. Oh, I forgot to buy you flowers. I'm sorry…"

Molly was before her father's grave.

"It's been years…but it's still hard. I miss you so much.", she said. There was a long pause as Molly organized her thoughts.

"I think I'm going to lose it, dad. I feel like my life is going out of my control. You see, there's this guy and uh, I really love him, but he has no clue! Well, I mean…he…he knows now because I uh, told him. Not really **told **him, it was more like a note…on a Christmas gift. Months ago. I've even done some illegal things because of him. I'm not really like this, I – I'm not this little, scared mouse…you know that. But when I see him, I feel so different, so helpless. I wish I could get over that, but it has been a couple years already…I don't know what to do anymore. And what's worse – now I'm forced to actually **live **with him. Can you imagine that?"

Molly chuckled darkly. A week ago she couldn't imagine such a scenario.

"He's a good man, though. Eccentric, but good."

Molly sighed heavily as she wiped the tears that were trailing on her cheeks. A cold wind blew from behind her and she shuddered. She just stayed there, lost in her thoughts, staring at her father's tombstone. Molly couldn't really tell how many minutes she spent just staying there. She woke up from her daydreaming when she started to feel cold drops falling on her head. Brilliant. It was raining now and she totally forgot to wear anything water resistant. To top it off, she was in the middle of the cemetery and it would take at least a 5 minute walk to get back to her car.

"Sorry dad, I have to go.", she said as she gently patted the tombstone and turned to the direction of her car, walking fast.

* * *

There was a soft knock to the door of Molly's flat. Sherlock answered at once: he knew who it was.

"Sherlock", the man greeted as he entered the flat.

"Mycroft", Sherlock answered back.

"Where's Dr. Hooper?"

"Molly's out. Said she needed some air, though I'm sure this flat has more than enough.", Sherlock said as he resumed his position on the sofa, with his laptop on the coffee table.

Mycroft smiled and shook his head slowly. Really, as genius as Sherlock was, there were just some little obvious things Sherlock couldn't understand.

"So you lost him?", Sherlock continued.

"Yes. His place will be searched, though. See if we can find any clues."

"Good luck with that."

Silence. Mycroft was still standing, umbrella on his forearm, pacing the apartment slowly.

"He's received a good offer. You better watch out, brother."

"Yes, Sherlock, we are all being careful."

"Right. What else do you have to tell me? If this was only about Moran and considering your lack of new info, you really didn't have to come here."

Mycroft smiled. Always so impatient, his little brother.

"Yes. Well, I've received a call from miss Adler. Well, **former **miss Adler, now miss Trovani. I shouldn't be surprised, I guess."

They exchanged a long look.

"She said Moran is now taking after Moriarty's steps and has loyal servants – or you could say clients – throughout the globe, but that he acts somewhat differently from Moriarty. Moran doesn't have all the expertise his mentor had, but he knows how to assemble and organize people for attacks; he was a colonel after all. Moran knows how war feels like and he will most likely feed from that: inciting violence. I wouldn't be surprised, with the economy going low as it is, that we could witness civil rebellions here and there throughout the UK by frustrated citizens inflamed by Moran's talk."

"I see. I just don't understand, though, why she is giving it all away. Not many people have that much information about the criminal network. Moran will surely find out, eventually, that it was her."

"Well, I believe this is what they call 'an eye for an eye'. Clearly she doesn't want you dead."

"But I'm dead."

"She knows better than that, Sherlock. You know she is very intelligent and that she thinks you would not do such a thing. You adore yourself too much for that."

"The woman is not trust worthy at all."

"True, but she is the best we've got right now. She had her reasons to fear Moriarty, but with Moran it's a different game."

"I see."

Silence.

"Well, I better go before miss Hooper gets any more distressed by my presence. Goodbye for now, brother dear."

Sherlock didn't reply. Mycroft, who had never sat down through the entire conversation, turned on his heels and a couple seconds later he was already out.

* * *

Molly turned the key to the flat's door and marched inside. She was walking rigidly, feeling very cold.

"Oh boy, so glad I'm home."

"But I thought you were rather relieved to go out.", Sherlock said raising an eyebrow as he looked at a very wet and upset Molly.

"Wasn't expecting all this rain and cold all at once.", she said, still shivering.

Molly walked to the fireplace and lighted it. She jumped as a thunder crossed the sky very loudly. Now she was **really **glad she made it home in time of the thunderstorm. The rain was pouring ten times harder than it was at the cemetery.

"I'll order chinese. Do you want anything?"

"Anything. Just get me whatever you get yourself."

"Right."

Sherlock observed Molly as she dialed a number she had by heart and ordered a vegetarian yakisoba. She had earth on her shoes along with grass and a few petals of different flowers on the creases of her jeans. A walk in the park, maybe? Wait… her eyes and nose were a bit red, which meant she had been crying. Why would she cry in a park? Except that…oh. It could be a cemetery. She was visiting someone's grave. Most likely her father, then. Hm.

"They're on their way. I'll just – "

Molly sneezed loudly.

" – take a hot shower now. Be right back."

Molly then shut the door to her room and proceeded to said shower. Meanwhile, Sherlock was thinking. Would he ask her what exactly she just did when she was out, though he already knew, or would it be better to just play dumb? Playing dumb wasn't easy at all to Sherlock, and he didn't really have to disguise to Molly anymore. He didn't understand sentiment well, but he couldn't have an emotional unstable Molly with him 24/7, especially with a criminal mastermind on his plots. This could drive Sherlock crazy. He needed order in his mind – and that sounds funny because of how untidy he is with pretty much everything else – and to be having Molly as a constant companion, he would have to help her to calm her mind as well. Or at least that was what he was telling herself. Molly wasn't really one to take such emotional outbursts, unless it was something really upsetting. And he was worried about her.

_No, not about __**her**__. I don't worry about anyone, _he thought to himself. Sherlock was still on his laptop, but didn't find anything unusual or new that could be related to Moran. Frustrated, he shut it down and put it on the coffee table. He decided to take a quick shower as well. Maybe something would occur to him.

* * *

Mycroft's mobile rang.

"Hello, mother."

"Hello sweetheart. How are you and my sweet Sherlock doing?"

"I'm fine and he is fine as well, mother."

"Can I talk to him?"

"I'm…afraid that's not possible."

"Still angry with me? Even after all these years?"

"I would say so, but that's not the reason. He's not with me."

"Oh? But I thought he would stay with you at all times."

"You and I know Sherlock's not the cooperative type. He wouldn't stay with me, so…I had to put someone in charge of babysitting him."

"Poor soul. And who might that be?"

"Dr. Molly Hooper."

There was a pause at the other end of the line.

"Sherlock? **My **Sherlock, with a woman? **Living **with a woman? What are you two hiding from me? Is she his girlfriend?", her tone was incredulous and amused.

Mycroft chuckled.

"No, mother. Molly Hooper is a doctor who works at St. Bartholomew's Hospital and knows Sherlock for a couple or so years. She helps him every now and then on his cases and was a pivot at helping Sherlock faking his death. She is a good friend."

Another pause.

"Hm. I see. Well, tell him I miss him, will you? Alfred just helped me text him again but Sherlock always ignores me."

"I will, mother."

* * *

The doorbell to Molly's flat rang. Molly had just put on a long sleeved black shirt, a flannel pants and a pair of socks. That would keep her warm. Her hair was still not combed and they were still a bit wet and loose on her shoulders. She opened the door to a tall man, who handed her the food and Molly handed him the money in return. She regarded her for a second and then regarded the flat as well for a few more seconds, so discreetly Molly didn't notice at all. He then went off and she proceeded to the kitchen and unpacked the vegetarian yakisoba, pulling two plates and cutlery from the cupboard. Sherlock chose that precise moment to get out of the bathroom, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. To say that it caught Molly off guard would be an understatement. She was so shocked and thrilled and nervous by such a sight that she dropped a plate. Thankfully it didn't break. Sherlock was walking in the direction of his room and the loud noise made Sherlock turn halfway through it.

"Molly? Is everything all right?" Sherlock asked. He meant that because of her clumsy reaction and the way she was crimson and trembling. Sherlock wondered if she was having an emotional breakdown or something.

"Y-Yes. Just…g-get dressed. Lu-lunch will be served in a minute."

"All right.", he replied. Sherlock frowned a little. She was all nervous again, and Sherlock was now convincing himself she **really **was emotionally unstable. He didn't get it at all.

A minute later Sherlock was back to the living room, barefoot and wearing trousers and a white long sleeved, button down shirt. Molly had just finished fixing herself a cup of hot tea and sneezed again as she sat down to eat.

"Caught a cold, haven't you?"

"I really hope not."

Sherlock chuckled and they stood in companionable silence for the rest of the meal. Every now and then Sherlock would look at Molly and observe the way she was frowning and massaging her temples while eating. She definitely had caught a cold. The signs of a headache were clear.

"You really should get some rest.", he said as he finished his meal and laid on the sofa with his arms crossed on his chest.

"You know what, I think I'll do just that.", she said as she put the dishes in the sink, took an aspirin and retreated to her room.

Molly couldn't say why, but she felt completely exhausted. She remembered feeling her body weight like a ton and fall sleep very fast and the next time she opened her eyes it was all dark. Her headache was gone, though. She got up and exit the room, walking to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water.

"Oh, there you are.", Sherlock said. He was sitting on the sofa on the closest edge to the fireplace playing the chords of his violin with his right forefinger.

"I was starting to wonder if you passed out or something. How do you feel?"

Molly was looking puzzled and was a bit suspicious of him. When the hell did he start to care so much? Unless…

"Ok. Spill it out."

"What?"

"What do you want me to do for you?"

"What?"

Molly rolled her eyes. Sherlock looked really confused but knew how good of an actor he could be.

"You, caring. You, being nice and gentle. You obviously want something. Just tell me what it is at once, will you?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and his jaw dropped a little in shock. Did she really think of him like that? Well, he supposed it was quite accurate, considering his behavior towards her during these couple years they have known each other. Sherlock was getting better, especially after the…incident at the Christmas party, but Sherlock was still Sherlock, right?

"I want nothing.", he said simply, with a blank expression on his face. He turned his attention back to the fireplace that was still lit and the only source of lighting. Molly just stared at him. She now realized that was a bit rude. She walked slowly to the sofa and sat beside him.

"Um, all right. I'm sorry, Sherlock, it's just…I'm not, um, really used to that."

Sherlock turned to look at her again, squinting his eyes just a bit. What exactly did she mean with that? As usual, Sherlock was thinking many things at once.

"Why did you go to the cemetery this morning?"

Molly froze. How could he possibly know that? Were Mycroft's men spying on her and giving the info away to Sherlock? To Mycroft? Who else knew this?

"How…how do you know that?"

"You had earth on your shoes, petals on your jeans creases and I could see that you were crying. A simple walk in the park wouldn't do that, would it?"

Molly locked her jaw and swallowed.

"Thought so", he said with a grin. "Will you tell me?", he pushed.

"Why would you even want to know? It's not relevant for you.", she said crossing her arms.

Oh, maybe this wouldn't be just as easy as Sherlock thought it would be. Molly was acting very defensively. He put his violin down on the coffee table and looked at her. Sherlock tried to deduce something, anything of her emotional behavior, but this really wasn't her area. Molly wasn't willing to look away either, so this was starting to be a staring contest. He squinted his eyes a bit and his eyes were cold as ice. Molly was starting to fidget and when the tension was too much to bear, she looked away and sighed in defeat. Sherlock suppressed a grin and softened his look.

"I…I miss him. My dad. This morning you made me remember him and all the past lovely years I spent with him and it hit me like a stab in the heart or something. I suddenly felt the urge to see him."

"**I **made you remember him? How so? What did I do?", Sherlock asked in a surprised voice. He wasn't expecting that. He doubted very much Mr. Hooper was anything like him.

Molly looked at him again and started to weep. Tears were streaming down her face as she silently tried to recompose herself. She looked fragile and in need of help. A bit like he did, a few days ago, when **he **asked for her help. Who would ever have thought that Sherlock would do such a thing?

"Um…the comic books. He was a big fan so I grew up listening to superhero stories. We used to talk about it all the time. He was my best companion. Mostly my only companion…", she said that last bit to herself, but Sherlock could hear it very clearly.

"I thought as much. I saw you photo album. Many pictures of you two, but why only the two of you? Why was him your only companion?", Sherlock asked. He was very curious about her past. That could explain all her social awkwardness. He had a solid idea she was lonely before the Hansel and Gretel case, when they talked in the lab, but this, **this **not only proved it, but **explained** it. He needed more data, he needed to know. He had a fairly good idea her mother was deceased as well, but since he was getting Molly to talk, he would just let her talk.

"Because I grew up without my mother. She wasn't there to help my father raise me, to talk about girly things with me when I needed her opinion, her help. I'm socially awkward. I think I was never good enough to make any friends. Real friends."

"What happened? Divorce?" Sherlock knew in all probability it wasn't, but maybe playing dumb would be better.

"No. She died giving birth to me."

"I see.", was Sherlock's response. He watched as Molly was trembling a little and sobbing silently. He felt sad too, like something was making it harder to breathe.

"I…I really missed a mother figure. I've felt so awkward and out of place among the other children in school, but with time, I've managed to put up with the bullies. Dad was amazing, he would always tell me bed time stories about heroes and whatnot, to make me feel better, to make me believe I could be and do anything. So I would sleep and…I would imagine my family. Complete. Me, dad and mom. Sometimes I had dreams with her, with us. I would see the photographs of them when they were younger and how happy they were together and that kept me going." Molly was now crying soundly. She was finally opening her heart to someone besides the little family she had. She only hoped she didn't look too weak to him.

**Paradise (by Coldplay)**

_When she was just a girl  
She expected the world  
But it flew away from her reach  
So she ran away in her sleep_

_And dreamed of para-para-paradise  
Para-para-paradise  
Para-para-paradise  
Every time she closed her eyes_

_Ooohh_

_When she was just a girl  
She expected the world  
But it flew away from her reach  
And the bullets catch in her teeth_

"My father was a chemist and worked with forensic chemistry. I've learned so much with him. I wanted to be a doctor because of him, you know.", she gave a little smile and looked at Sherlock in the eyes. That moment caught him off guard, as it also triggered something in his memory as well. He decided to not speak, as he felt his voice would probably fail. Instead, he just nodded.

"The beginning of our life was hard, but eventually he managed to get a good enough income to provide us a comfortable life. This flat, for instance, I inherited from him. But as good as he was, and he was amazing, I missed a mother figure, as I said before. He never really remarried…dated a few times but that's it. He was always so committed to his work and me, he had no time for much more than that, but as I grew older I could see he missed a female companion. My father didn't have siblings, so the only family I had besides him who were still alive was my aunt and cousin that lived in America."

_Life goes on  
It gets so heavy  
The wheel breaks the butterfly  
Every tear, a waterfall  
In the night, the stormy night  
She'll close her eyes  
In the night  
The stormy night  
Away she'd fly_

_And dream of para-para-paradise  
Para-para-paradise  
Para-para-paradise  
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh_

_She'd dream of para-para-paradise  
Para-para-paradise  
Para-para-paradise  
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh_

_La-la-la-la-la_

"I'm…I'm sorry, I'm talking too much. It's just that…with all this Moran situation I felt trapped, exposed and whenever I felt that way my father would be just the one to help me feel better, but he isn't here anymore. That's fine, I guess, I just…lost it at that moment. I hope you don't think I'm an emotional wreck or something.", she said, looking a bit embarrassed. Sherlock smiled in return and Molly felt butterflies in her stomach. He then turned very serious, looking away at the fireplace and then back at her.

"He killed himself. My father, that is."

Molly's eyes widened and she felt a knot in her throat.

_Still lying underneath the stormy skies  
She said oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh  
I know the sun's set to rise_

_And so lying underneath those stormy skies  
She'd say oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh  
I know the sun must set to rise_

"I was only a child but I remember him well. Wish I could forget but it just won't go away.", he said matter-of-factly.

"I can't understand the emotional pain of losing your mother, as mine is still alive, but I know what it is to grow up without a father figure, your equivalent to mother figure. Mother is a good person. We never really had to struggle financially speaking, but school was hard for me as well. I didn't really care about being alien to the other kids, but they would frequently beat the hell out of me. I just couldn't hold my tongue at their…ordinary little minds. Sometimes they would hit a nerve, talking about my father and how he killed himself because he just couldn't stand my very presence. All I know is he abandoned us. He didn't care and neither would I and as adolescence hit I found science fascinating, chemistry in special, and that was what I decided to focus on. Mother was worried that I would eventually do something stupid because I was – or am – so **much **like my father, as she would put it. She thought I had inherited his psychological behavior and tried to convince me to treat it. She was convinced I was prone to depression and was bipolar. I disagree: I'm fairly certain my only problem is Asperger's, though I can't see why saying the truth can be a problem if it's common sense in most societies that you shouldn't lie."

Ok, **hold it right there**. Was he actually opening up? Molly felt that it was the longest speech she ever witnessed coming from Sherlock. Sherlock was actually telling the story of his life and not feeling awkward in the slightest. It actually felt good, in a way. Like he was telling something he wished he could share but never had done before.

There was a moment of silence and they just looked at each other, like there was mutual understanding. To Molly, the feelings were just overwhelming. Without really thinking, she hugged Sherlock by the ribs and rested her forehead on his right shoulder. She was still weeping, but then she chuckled, and Sherlock just sat there, frozen, a bit confused as he was taken by surprise and without a clue on how to proceed. A minute later, without really moving from her position, Molly said:

"Thank you, Sherlock."

Silence. Molly slowly lifted her head to look at him but still holding him.

"And you don't need to be scared of a psychiatrist. Think of it as an opportunity to have a different perspective on life. I'll…be there if you think you can't do it alone."

"Thank you."

Suddenly, Molly became very aware of their closeness and that she was holding him. She has never done that. Not once. He wasn't very responsive but he wasn't shoving her off either, so…was that an improvement?

Molly released her hold of him and cleared her throat out of embarrassment.

"So, uh…what I said before still stands. If you need me, I will help you. And, uh…I'll just…go to my room now, if you don't mind. See you tomorrow, Sherlock."

Molly got up and walked a couple steps in the direction of the door when Sherlock finally spoke again.

"That's nonsense, I'm positive you were good enough."

"I'm sorry?"

"School. Not having friends. The problem was obviously about them. You are far from ordinary and more than good enough. I'm certain they couldn't see how good a friend you could be."

Molly was blushing and Sherlock smiled. Molly smiled back.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Have a goodnight."

"Goodnight, Molly."

All was quiet as Molly retreated to her bedroom and closed the door. The silence only made Sherlock's thoughts louder and louder in his head. What the hell had just happened? All these feelings were so strong…was this what Molly was talking about sentiment being the more intense the more you repressed them? Sherlock looked at his hands. They were trembling, but not out of fear. He felt nervous, but he also felt lighter. He felt like he could actually sleep tonight without really trying. And he would just do that.

_This could be para-para-paradise  
Para-para-paradise  
Para-para-paradise  
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh_

* * *

Molly was very awake, lying on her bed. She replayed the recent events by the fireplace a thousand times over in her head. She was positive she wouldn't be able to get any sleep tonight.

_This could be para-para-paradise  
Para-para-paradise  
This could be para-para-paradise  
Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh_


	8. Moves like Jagger

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss' amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

**Sidenote:** Hey guys! *raises shield* I'm so, so sorry for the late update. I kind of got stuck. You see, the plot thickens. I won't try to explain why it has been almost 2 months since I last updated because I'll feel like I'll be just stalling you guys, but, just know that I had been travelling for a few weeks and spent a few other weeks reading and playing games and doing some research, so…well, I hope you like this chapter! It's the longest chapter yet and probably the craziest. I really, really need to know how you guys feel about this. Please? Pretty please? No need for elaborate feedback, just tell me if you think I'm in the right track! And thank you very much those who reviewed, I love you all. I really do. Thank you for reading! (and to those that might have thought I had abandoned this fic, do not fret! That won't happen. I'm inconsistent with updates, but I'll just stop writing this fic when it is indeed over.)

* * *

**Music for a dead man**

Chapter 8: Moves like Jagger

It was almost four in the morning when exhaustion won over Molly. That meant she had just about 3 hours of sleep before going to Bart's in an ungodly Monday. She honestly loathed Mondays. Feeling like just a couple minutes had passed, her phone started to ring and Molly set its alarm off. She got up lazily and decided to take a quick shower so she wouldn't cause an accident on her way to work. While under the steaming water of the shower, Molly couldn't help thinking about the previous night. What the hell had happened? Sherlock was actually talking and he never really talked about something private unless he was asked – and even so, most of the time he would just ignore it or give a sharp, dismissive answer. He was still his own self, of course, and Molly could feel he had changed just slightly but she had no freaking idea of what caused it. By the end of her shower, she decided it was pointless to think too hard about it – this was Sherlock after all.

Molly was now fully dressed and making a fast, effortless breakfast. She was too lazy even to chew right now; hell, in actual truth she was too sleepy to even feel hungry. She decided to just get herself a couple biscuits and a heavenly strong coffee. Molly wondered if that was because she was just tired due to sleep deprivation or if it was the flu catching up on her. Come to think about it, she wasn't feeling one hundred percent and her head felt a bit funny. She decided to go anyway: she knew she would feel uncomfortable around Sherlock – or you could say even more uncomfortable – because of last night. It wasn't a huge deal, she thought, but still it was quite an intimate moment, one that she doesn't remember having with anyone – not even close friends – in a while.

Dragging her feet to the door and yawning, she closed it behind her and went straight to her car.

* * *

"Harry, I'm going now."

"What? Where the hell are you going so early?", Harry said as she took a bite of her bread and a sip of her coffee.

"Job hunting", John said as he started for the door. He made a mental list of the hospitals he would go and try to get a job interview, deliberately crossing out St. Bart's. There was no way in hell he would work there, unless there was nowhere else to go.

"Oh, I see. Good luck, brother."

"Thank you."

There was a loud bang from the door and then John Watson was out.

* * *

Sherlock opened his eyes and woke up to a loud noise. Checking the time, he was surprised to see it was half past eleven. He had overslept. That was a first. The noise continued. Rubbing his eyes and looking around his room he realized the noise was actually his phone ringing. He yawned and answered.

"Holmes."

"Oh. Did I wake you up, brother? Your voice sounds groggy."

"Yes, you did. What do you want?" Sherlock said rolling his eyes.

"It's Moran."

Sherlock got up and was immediately much more alert.

"What'd happened?"

"A clue. Get in the car, will you?"

Sherlock walked to his window and sure enough, Mycroft was leaning casually on a black Mercedes, phone on his ear. Sherlock could barely contain his excitement. Finally, a clue!

"Meet you in five", Sherlock said before hanging up.

* * *

It was lunch time and Molly was getting herself a Caesar Salad. She wasn't very hungry but she was tired. She needed to get some sleep soon, and very soon. Molly wondered if taking a nap on an autopsy table would be too bizarre. It would cost her a warning for sure if she was caught but to hell with it. She was very good at her job and was quite the role model.

"Molly? May I sit with you?"

Molly looked up to see Mary, a colleague from Bart's. Molly talked to Mary only rarely because they didn't really work together. Mary was a nurse and thus worked with the "living division" while Molly, well, worked mostly with dead people so nurses weren't really needed. But as much as Molly could tell, Mary was a nice person.

"Sure."

The woman set her tray on the table and took a seat next to Molly.

"How are you holding up? You don't look very well…", the young woman said as she took in Molly's tired figure.

"Uh? What do you mean?"

"That detective, Holmes. He was a close friend of yours, right? And he died so tragically..."

"Oh." Of course it was about Sherlock. Stupid Molly, she couldn't just forget that that man was supposed to be dead. If it was Moran in Mary's place, he surely would have known at once that Sherlock was still alive.

"I, uh…I miss him. But he wasn't really a friend. I mean…I would be there for him anytime, but Sherlock wasn't really a man that had friends. The closest he had for a friend was his flat mate, Dr. John Watson."

"Watson? The army doctor that Dr. Stamford talks about every now and then?"

"That's him", Molly said a bit surprised.

"I see", was all that Mary replied before resuming eating her meal. Molly did the same and they sat in companionable silence. A few minutes later they were both finished with their meals and about to go back to their positions when Mary intervened.

"Oh, Molly. I'm leaving Bart's. I got a position as the head nurse at Charing Cross Hospital. It's my last week working here and I thought I would tell you. I'm inviting a few people from Bart's to hang out at The Giant Irish this Friday night. Do you want to go?"

"The Giant Irish?"

"It's a new disco pub here in London. Well, I say new because I've only been there once but I think it has been a year or so that they settled."

"Oh."

Now that was something to think about. Molly didn't really dance. Well, she did, mostly alone in her flat when she felt like it. Well, it would do no harm to have a little fun, right? Right.

"I'll be there", Molly answered with a smile.

"Good!", Mary smiled back. "See you later, then.", she said as she went back to her lab.

_All right. Now, the nap,_ Molly thought as she proceeded to the autopsy room.

* * *

Sherlock was at Moran's house doorstep. He was observing, trying to catalogue and deduce all the tiny things he saw. He opened the door and climbed a flight of stairs. Another door. Sherlock opened it to reveal the living room…and a stuffed toy on the center of the coffee table. Aside from that, the flat seemed vacant. There was furniture but not many personal belongings.

Mycroft stood at the door, watching Sherlock and occasionally glancing at the cute stuffed toy. Sherlock was starting to get impatient. There wasn't much to work on. The only thing he deduced is that Moran was trying to hide something, or at least leading everyone to believe that he was with all the deliberately loose panels that on the floor. Well, it was to be expected. Now, the stuffed toy. Why the hell Moran had a stuffed toy?

"What the hell is this?", Sherlock asked.

"A Gremlin.", Mycroft replied with an amused tone. Of course Sherlock wouldn't recognize the tiny, cute creature that had ears like those of bats and body like those of undergrown Ewoks.

"The devious, mythological creature?"

"That's right."

"The Gremlin is a stuffed…what, walking bat? Weren't they supposed to be terrifying, disgusting, reptile like creatures that come straight from hell?"

Mycroft laughed.

"That's what people say, isn't it? I think that's his way to pose a threat by telling a joke. If you have watched the movie, you would recognize that stuffed toy as the baby form of a Gremlin."

Sherlock started pacing in circles – his mind was racing. Never had he imagined such a ridiculous scenario: a clue that had something to do with a stuffed Gremlin. He started to take mental notes and to cross them with the information he already had in his mind palace. He suddenly stopped pacing and looked at Mycroft with a grin on his face.

"Of course! They are known as the masters of sabotage, aren't they? Oh, **now **we have something. But what? What is it that he is planning?"

There was a heartbeat of silence and then Mycroft replied.

"Well, that's the million dollar question, isn't it? I wouldn't have brought you here if I had any idea of what is on his mind."

* * *

"John Watson."

As he heard his name being called, John rose from his seat and a woman greeted him.

"Welcome, Dr. Watson. Please follow me."

John was led to the director's office of the Charing Cross Hospital. It was the third hospital today that he tried an interview.

"It's here. Good luck!"

"Thank you."

John knocked and the response came shortly with a "Come in".

The man before him was very tall and very fat, having the constitution of a bear. Despite his intimidating size and the huge mustache he had a very young look, which made his features a lot softer.

"Dr...John Watson, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Please, have a seat.", the man gestured to a chair across the table as he himself settled on his own.

"My name is Gerald Smith. I'm the director of this hospital and the chief surgeon of the cardiology department. I've read your résumé and it is quite impressive. We definitely could use someone like you here. When can you start?"

John was a bit surprised. He half-expected a straight "no" or at least a "we'll call you". He then blinked and replied with a "right away, sir."

"Perfect! And it's Smith, or Dr. Smith if you prefer. Sir is a bit too much, I'm not much older than you anyways", he said with a laugh, and then continued, moving from his chair and walking to the door, saying "come with me, I'll show you your department."

John stood from his chair at once and followed the man. They got out of the office and when they were half-way through the corridor Dr. Smith stopped on his tracks and turned to John abruptly.

"Oh, I almost forgot. We haven't had a general practitioner with your expertise for a while and since this is a teaching hospital we have a lot of kids, still learning, so... you wouldn't mind supervising them once in a while, would you?"

"No, not at all."

"Good!", the man replied with a wide smile, "all right then, let's get you settled."

* * *

GROZNY, CHECHEN, 22:12

"So…Dumarov, isn't it? Sergei Dumarov? You're planning a very ambitious undertaking. Come to think of it, I recall Moriarty saying something about that a while ago. Said it was one of the reasons he got that Adler woman to make Holmes crack those codes of the flight of the dead. Anyways…this is going to take a good two weeks at the very least. Do you have everything you need already?"

"Yes, mister – I mean, **Colonel** Moran, sir."

"All right then. Before the sun rises I hope you are all on your feet. Otherwise I'll do you the favor of getting rid of the sleepy bags. No need for all that men if they can't stay awake, right?", Moran said with a vicious grin.

* * *

Molly opened the door to her flat to see a very concentrated Sherlock working on his laptop. He glanced at Molly for a second but said nothing. Honestly, Molly didn't care at all, she just wanted to sleep until morning. Of the next week.

She proceeded to shower and then to get her anything easily edible. Sherlock was still typing on his laptop with a pensive look.

"Penny for your thoughts", Molly said as she made herself comfortable on her armchair with a steaming bowl of soup in her hands.

Sherlock eyed her incredulously before retorting, clearly upset.

"My thoughts are hardly so cheap. A penny would never be enough to buy them off, Molly. But…then again, money isn't really what drives me to do the only thing that is worth doing in this world – which is using my brain, though how can so many people still deny themselves such a pleasure, I cannot understand."

Molly just blinked, staring at him. Only Sherlock wouldn't understand what that meant. She snorted and Sherlock squinted his eyes at that.

"No, Sherlock, I mean…you haven't said a word since I got back and you seem so concentrated on something that it sparked my curiosity. I wish I knew what exactly you are so immersed in."

Sherlock's eyes widened a bit as he seemed to finally realize what she meant.

"Oh. It's Moran. He deliberately left a clue before leaving to God-knows-where."

"A clue? What is it?"

"A Gremlin."

Molly just stared. He had to be joking, right?

"Wha – aaa – t?" she said, chuckling.

"Here", Sherlock turned his laptop around so she could see the photograph that was taken at Moran's place.

"Oh. You actually meant it. What does it mean, though?"

"Still working on it."

"Oh. Ok. Tell me if I can be of any help."

* * *

"Well, look who's back", said Harry as she saw John walking into the flat. "How did it go?", she pressed.

"I made it. Got a position at Charing Cross' Hospital", he said with a smile.

Harry couldn't contain her happiness. It's been a while since John last worked as a doctor because he had been very caught up in Sherlock's job. John would go wherever he would when they were on a case. And sometimes even when they weren't, it seems. Harry sometimes wondered if her brother was gay, even after he vehemently denied it when she asked him once some time ago.

"Oh _my_ _**GOD**_, that's amazing! Congratulations, brother!" she got up from the sofa and hugged him tightly, doing little happy jumps on the way.

"Thank you, Harry", John replied with a big smile, clearly pleased.

"Well then, we should celebrate! We're going somewhere nice and eat good food, just you and me, for a change. And it's on me!"

* * *

"What the...?", said a man that read something on his screen.

"What? What is it?", another man inquired.

"I'm reading some activity in that frequency we got at Moran's. Most likely a remote control device, it seems", the man replied, typing frantically.

"What kind of device? Can you trace it?"

"Yeah…I don't know…it's, it's... I'm almost there, hang on…MAC address…yeah, that's it! Wait. _WHAT?_"

"For **crying out loud**, just tell me already what it is!"

"It's…one of ours?", the man said with incredulity, "How – "

"What?", the other replied, very confused.

"It's a surveillance camera. One of _**our**__ cameras_. But it was hacked, and someone is using it!"

"_**WHAT**_?", the other man cried, his face turning from as white as a sheet to very scarlet in record time.

"**ATTENTION**, EVERYONE! WE HAVE A **SECURITY BREACH**! _REPEAT, WE HAVE A GODDAMN __**SECURITY BREACH**_!" he warned his co-workers and then, turning back to the man on the computer, said "You! Do your best to tackle him down. We can't afford any chance of him breaking into the **fucking** **CROWN NATIONAL SECURITY SYSTEM**!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Who does this **bloody piece of shit** _**thinks he is**_? OH, **HE WILL** HAVE IT!", the man said more to himself than to anyone, though everyone could hear him and feared he would have a stroke anytime soon.

* * *

The week went by without any major events. John was working full time, actually he chose to be working more than he would get paid for, but it was alright as this was his way to focus on something and keep his mind away from sad thoughts. So far, so good. Molly felt strangely excited that it was Friday already so she would go to The Giant Irish and hopefully have some fun. Sherlock was still stuck with the Gremlin, he needed more data and thus was growing more and more impatient and unbearable by each day that passed. Molly was relieved to be away from Sherlock for any length of time to actually have some fun, which too felt strange to her.

It was about eight in the evening and Molly was fixing her hair while deliberating on what to dress. It's a disco…but then again it's also a pub and the people she will meet there are not exactly close acquaintances. _Oh well…a dress will do_, she thought, and tried on a plain black dress.

"Hm. I guess I look ok, then. Hmm…all right, off I go", and then she walked out of her room.

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, looking for unsolved murders and other interesting cases on the internet. Nothing was really catching his attention, until Molly waltzed in the living room. He was expecting pajamas or casual clothing, not…**that**. _She looks…beautiful. NO, not __**beautiful**__…different. Different would be more accurate,_ he thought. Where the hell is Molly going?

"Where are you going?", he asked with a surprised face. Molly didn't really have much of a social life, that much was clear.

"I'm going to The Giant Irish. A colleague from Bart's is leaving to work at Charing Cross' Hospital so she invited a few people to this disco pub."

"Oh. Dull.", and then he resumed his attention to his laptop. Molly said nothing, just grabbed her purse and was about to fetch the car keys when she remembered she would drink tonight and, thus, it would be better to just leave it there and get a cab. Of course, none of this was missed by Sherlock.

"Well, I'm off. Later, Sherlock."

"Hm.", was all he replied.

* * *

Getting out of the cab, Molly took a second to regard the pub from outside. It seemed all right, not really fussy and properly lit. She stepped inside and saw from the corner of her eye someone coming in her direction.

"Oh, Molly! Glad you came!", greeted Mary.

"Oh, no, I'm glad **you** invited me."

"Nah, it's nothing. Here, come sit with us."

"Um, sure", Molly replied as she let herself being dragged through the crowd to a corner that had two tables put together and there, was Mike Stamford and another guy she recognized from Bart's but didn't really learn his name.

"Oh, Molly!"

"Hello, Mike.", greeted Molly back. She regarded the man people and carried on, trying to remember his name, "And, uh…Jacob, right?"

"That's me."

He raised his hand and Molly shook hands with him, giving the man an apologetic look.

"Sorry, I'm terrible with names, but…guess I got it right this time."

"It's ok, I've been in Bart's for only two weeks."

"Oh, that explains it.", she replied, taking a seat across from Mary and next to Mike.

"So! Guess everybody's here then! What do you want to drink? May I get us all beer for a start?", asked Mary.

"Sure", Mike said.

"Fine for me", replied Molly.

"I'll get those", Jacob offered. "Be back in a second."

"Oh, thank you, Jacob.", Mary said, and he replied with a "Sure, no problem.". She then turned to Molly as she saw Mike slightly distracted, typing something on his phone, and said "He seems nice, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, absolutely", Molly replied with a smile.

Jacob was back with the beer bottles in record time. "There you go.", he said as he put them on the table. "Now… a toast, right? To Mary Morstan, the best nurse in Bart's and who is unfortunately leaving us. Cheers!", he proposed.

"And to friendship, that won't end with my leaving. Cheers!", Mary added.

"Cheers!" the four said in unison as they took a gulp of their bottles.

"Um, would you excuse me for a minute? I'll be right back.", Jacob said as he was retreating from his seat.

* * *

"Are you sure it's here?" asked a man to his partner.

"Of course I do. The Giant Irish, it's what we all heard, right? It's here.", the other replied as he entered the pub, with his partner by his side, scanning the place for the person they were after.

"There, see? Dr. Hooper with her friends. And that's him.", the man said again, with eyes fixed on Molly's table.

"Are you positive?"

They both watched as Jacob raised from his chair and proceeded to the men's toilette.

"Yes I am. Let's greet him, shall we?"

* * *

Jacob entered the toilette and fetched his phone. It was a small restroom and he was alone. When he had just started typing, two men entered the restroom and greeted him.

"Evening, Mr. Frasier. Are we interrupting?"

Despite the polite greeting, Jacob could smell danger. He slowly put the phone back in his pocket and replied as calmly as he could manage.

"Not really, sir. I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"No, you don't. Actually you don't really need to. Just come with us.", said the other man, who hasn't spoken until now.

"Oh. I respectfully decline, gentlemen. You see, I'm with friends here and we're trying to have some fun."

"Oh, friends? Hardly. Come on, Jacob. Let's do this the easy way.", the first man, who was leading the operation, replied as he retrieved a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

Jacob froze and his heart started racing. He glanced in the direction of the door and back to the men before him. His expression showed he was dead set on something.

"Son, don't", the man in charge raised his palm, "don't try to run. We have backup. You won't be able to get away, so you better just let us take you from here."

Jacob locked his jaws and swallowed hard. His nostrils were flaring. It was infuriating, but it was true: he knew he was cornered and had no way out. Defeated, he hung his head down and offered his wrists.

"Good.", the man continued, trapping Jacob's wrists in the handcuffs and leading him out, "Shall we go now?"

* * *

It was almost nine in the evening now and the DJ was setting up the music.

"Oh, the disco is starting up! Where is Jacob? He sure is taking his time", Mary said.

"I saw him entering the toilette, but it sure was a while ago. Is he all right?", Molly replied.

"The toilette? I'll go and take a look, then", Mike offered, raising from his seat and going in the direction of the restroom. A few moments later he returned, alone.

"He's…he's not there. And doesn't seem to be anywhere in here", he said, looking around the place.

"Oh", Mary replied, a bit disappointed. "He…he's gone? But…gone where? He didn't tell us anything, did he?".

"Why don't you try to call him?", asked Molly.

"You know what, good idea.", Mary started calling him on her mobile.

There were a few moments of silence and then, a frown.

"Out of range, it says", Mary stated with a very disappointed tone.

The music was now playing. The DJ turned it down for a moment so he could speak on the microphone.

"All right ladies and gents, good evening and welcome to The Giant Irish. The name's DJ Maurice and I will hopefully entertain you tonight with my music. From 10 o'clock on it's girl's night out. If you have any suggestions, talk to me, ok? All right! Let's shake this thing!", and then some generic beat started playing.

Mike took in Mary's sad demeanor and, trying to cheer her up, invited her to dance, pulling her by the hand.

"Oh, don't be so sad, Mary. I'm sure there'll be a good explanation to this. Come, let's dance. You too, Molly!"

"Oh. Sure, why not?", Molly replied and followed them to the dance floor.

* * *

"So...Mr. Frasier. Care to explain what does this mean?", Mycroft asked Jacob, turning on a a laptop that had a fullscreen image of a knight mounted on a white horse and slaying a dragon with a spear.

"That's St. George, _sir. _Thought the government would know of such an elementary figure, but, _apparently_, I was wrong."

Mycroft chuckled.

"Right. Spare me from your ironic remarks. I want to know what St. George _means _to Moran, or _meant _to Moriarty. Clearly it's some sort of code.

"I don't know what it means."

"Sure you don't.", Mycroft replied with a sigh, rolling his eyes. "This is going to take a while, isn't it?"

Jacob said nothing.

"Listen here, Jacob, I have one of the best information extractors in the whole world. You _will_ give us what we want, whether you want to tell us or _not_. So…what's it going to be?"

Jacob was livid. "Bite me", he said, which then was followed by a sharp pain through all his body before he blacked out.

* * *

Sherlock was awoken from his thoughts by his mobile. It was a message from Mycroft, followed by a picture.

_We intercepted this picture from a man of name Jacob Frasier. He was caught trying to send a text message to, most likely, Moran, regarding Dr. Hooper. Investigation is still in process. – MH_

Sherlock felt his heartbeats picking up speed. _Perhaps Molly was right to be so afraid of him after all. Where was she again? The Giant Irish, she said. Now, the picture. Saint George. And that man…doesn't ring a bell. Mycroft will hopefully have more info soon._ _So what do we have? We have a Gremlin and we have St. George, Moran disappeared and it has been a week that nothing interesting has happened anywhere. St. George…what about St. George? Something, but what? Molly…she was very nearly in real danger tonight. I ended up involving her in my own problems…__**NO**__, focus! St. George…_Sherlock's mind was racing. He was pacing the floor of the living room in circles, deep in thought.

"Ugh, this is not working. I have to talk to Molly. Maybe she could be of help. Hah. Help. Who am I kidding? I don't need help. Well…better tell her to come back."

Sherlock was now talking to himself, while calling Molly on his mobile. Ringing, ringing and nothing. Molly isn't picking up. Sherlock tried again. Nothing. He sighed deeply.

"Brilliant. In that case, I guess I'll have to meet her there. Oh, she will _hate_ that, won't she?"

* * *

"Oh boy, that felt good! Can't remember the last time I had this much fun", said a very breathless Molly to the other two of the party, who decided to take a break.

"Really? That's nice! Pity though that the men here are scarce…", Mary replied.

"Now you're offending me!", Mike said with a playful grin, "Was I not entertaining enough?"

"Oh, don't be upset! You're much fun but, you know, it's always nice to meet new people", replied Mary half joking, half apologizing.

"Wow, I'm thirsty. I'll get something for myself, do you guys want anything?", Molly offered.

"I'm fine, thank you, Molly."

"Yeah, same here. I'm just resting through a few songs before going to the dance floor again."

"You are tireless, aren't you, woman?" Mike replied to Mary's statement with a chuckle.

Molly reached the balcony and ordered bottled water and a Dry Martini.

"There you are", spoke a male voice from behind her. She turned and saw a man with a very tidy hair, wearing aviator sunglasses, dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket.

"I'm…sorry?", Molly replied. She couldn't quite recognize the man, though he really did look familiar.

"It's me, Molly."

A moment later it dawned on her, which almost made her choke on her water. Sherlock just grinned in return.

"What the – why are you – why – _what_?"

"I'm here because I have some important info. Tried to call you but you wouldn't pick up. Turns out I _had_ to come here."

"O…kay?", Molly said, still a bit confused, "Info about what? What's so urgent that couldn't wait until I got back home?"

"How long have you known Jacob Frasier?"

"Wu…what? How do you know him? Wait, have you _done_ anything to him?"

"No, not me. Just answer, Molly."

"Well…uh…I've known him for just over a week. He's new at Bart's. Why?"

"Oh, there you are, Molly. Oh, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. ", Mary stepped in, taking in Molly's new companion. Sherlock acted as if she wasn't addressing him.

"You're not interrupting, Mary."

"Yes…so…I'm leaving now. Well, Mike and I are leaving, we're sharing a cab.", Mary leaned closer to hug Molly and half-whispered in her ear, "Tell me all about it later! He's a catch!"

With that statement, Molly turned tomato red. She quickly tried to disguise it, and thankfully for the dim lights it was rather easy.

"Already? Whatever happened to dancing?"

"Oh, that…I might have drank a bit too much. My head is all fuzzy, I don't really feel very well. Better call it a night."

"I see. Well then, hope to see you later. Goodbye to you two!"

"Bye, Molly! See you Monday", Mike said, leaving with Mary. Molly sighed heavily and turned to Sherlock, clearly upset.

"Do you realize how _reckless_ of you it was to just show up here?"

"No one seems to recognize me here. This is not exactly broad daylight, is it?", he said with a half grin.

Molly rolled her eyes and started sipping on her Martini. She wondered if she was starting to pick a few of Sherlock's habits or if it was just because of pure impatience.

"All right, everyone, hope you enjoyed my beat. It's ten o'clock so I invite all of you, beautiful females to step in here", the DJ said motioning to the dance floor, "it's girl's night out time!", and then "I will survive" started playing.

Many women started assembling on the dance floor, which left Molly and Sherlock alone in the balcony with a good 15 feet radius at the very least. Sherlock started scanning the place.

"Why don't we take a seat?", he said, motioning to a corner with a table and a two seats across from each other. As they made themselves comfortable, Molly was quick on her demands.

"Right. Jacob Frasier. What about him and what info is that?"

"He's Moran's man. A spy. His job is to keep an eye on people connected to me somehow. He's received a message from Moran", Sherlock's grin was growing bigger with satisfaction at each word. Molly had already given up on understanding what such things meant. This was Sherlock.

"What kind of message?"

"A picture of St. George mounting his horse, slaying a dragon with his spear."

"So you have that and a Gremlin. Any luck figuring out what do these clues mean?"

"As a matter of fact, _yes_, I have. I can even tell you that I know where he is and what he is up to and ugh, how can you stand disco music? I feel like my synapses are failing and with each beat I feel more and more stupid!", Sherlock's grin quickly faded into an annoyed frown.

"Shouldn't be surprised, should I?"

"Of what? Me, figuring out the clues?".

"No. Well, that, too. I actually meant the disco music. It's not really like you to dance, is it? The beats are supposed to shut down your brain so you can dance like there's no tomorrow, Sherlock, and such a thing is a kind of heresy to you, isn't it?"

"I _can _dance, Molly."

"Can you, really?", she looked at him in disbelief.

Sherlock slowly removed his sunglasses, folding them into his jacket pocket. He squinted his eyes at her and a grin slowly crept into his features. They were staring at each other and, surprisingly, Molly didn't feel so uncomfortable anymore. Oh well, blame it on the alcohol.

"Is that a challenge, miss Hooper?"

Before Molly could reply, Sherlock got up from his seat and dragged her to the dance floor by the hand and in that second Gloria Gaynor's music gave way to Maroon 5's "Moves Like Jagger".

Moves Like Jagger _[feat. Christina Aguilera]_** (by ****Maroon 5****)**

_Oh  
Oooh_

Just shoot for the stars if it feels right  
Then aim for my heart if you feel like  
Take me away and make it okay  
I swear I'll behave

Sherlock was feeling very confident and yet a little frightened. He _could _dance, that much was true, but he _didn't _really dance. It was far from a rational, intellectual activity, and yet he couldn't stop himself from doing it. He was actually having fun with something other than a crime scene. Who would have thought it?

_You wanted control, so we waited  
I put on a show, now I make it  
You say I'm a kid, my ego is big  
I don't give a shit  
_

Molly couldn't believe it. Sherlock was _actually dancing. _With _her. _And he looked damn hot. Was there a thing in this world this bastard couldn't do? It was so, so unfair. On closer observation, Molly perceived something in Sherlock she couldn't quite name. It was like he was being less himself and more…fun. He was so business all the time, but right now he looked almost like a normal person trying to have some fun. Or maybe it was just the alcohol doing its toll.

_And it goes like this  
Take me by the tongue and I'll know you  
Kiss me 'til you're drunk and I'll show you  
All the moves like Jagger  
I've got the moves like Jagger  
I've got the moooooves like Jagger_

Sherlock couldn't quite understand what was guiding his moves. He felt like he was in some sort or trance, a bit like when he used to do drugs a few years ago: exhilaration, excitement. He felt like he didn't really had to think much and the moment felt strangely private, like there was only him and Molly at the disco and, sure enough, he felt it again, that bolt through his spine, that funny feeling in his stomach. Before he could realize it, he already had his eyes locked with Molly's and a hand on her waist.

I don't need to try to control you  
Look into my eyes and I'll own you  
With them moves like Jagger  
I've got the moves like Jagger  
I've got the moooooves like Jagger

Maybe it's hard when you feel like you're broken and scarred  
Nothing feels right  
But when you're with me, I'll make you believe  
That I've got the key

So get in the car, we can ride it  
Wherever you want, get inside it  
And you wanna steer, but I'm shifting gears  
I'll take it from here

And it goes like this  
Take me by the tongue and I'll know you  
Kiss me 'til you're drunk and I'll show you  
All the moves like Jagger  
I've got the moves like Jagger  
I've got the moooooves like Jagger

I don't need to try to control you  
Look into my eyes and I'll own you  
With them moves like Jagger  
I've got the moves like Jagger  
I've got the moooooves like Jagger

To Molly, this was a very intense experience. She felt like the rational part of her brain had just switched off under Sherlock's intense gaze. Molly had never seen him like that, and she felt unconsciously drawn to him, closer and closer, like he was a strong magnet and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

_(Christina Aguilera)  
You wanna know how to make me smile  
Take control, own me just for the night  
And if I share my secret  
You're gonna have to keep it  
Nobody else can see this_

So watch and learn, I won't show you twice  
Head to toe, ooh baby rub me right  
If I share my secret, you're gonna have to keep it  
Nobody else can see this

Now Sherlock was decidedly in new territory. He felt that Molly, too, was kind of fascinated but also weary, and…he couldn't take his eyes off of hers. The music was starting to fade into white noise in his head and he was unconsciously slowing down, progressively coming to a full stop. And he just stood there, looking at her. She, too, seemed to realize what just had happened and suddenly she looked away in embarrassment, with a confused expression on her face that also showed her awe.

"I, uh…", she started. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Uh, yes. Let's go."

Sherlock put his glasses back on and started for the door with Molly on his heels. She didn't know whether she should feel surprised or angry when she saw Sherlock holding opened the door of _her_ car. She gave him a look that even she didn't know what quite expressed but got in the car nevertheless. Molly took the opportunity to let out a quite loud sigh within the seconds that took Sherlock to occupy the driver's seat. When he did, he avoided eye contact, focusing all his attention on the road. Neither would speak. Not a single word.

_Oh God. I'm so nervous. This was supposed to be NO-SHERLOCK evening, and look how it turned out. Brilliant. And now I'm even crazier about him, if that even possible. Why was he here again? Oh! Yes, Moran! He ended up not telling me what he knew about the clues!_, Molly thought to herself. She risked a glance in his direction. His expression showed nothing. His jaw was tight and eyes unmoving, set forward, his left hand changing gears mechanically. It almost looked like he was feeling self-conscious, but then again, this was Sherlock, when did he ever feel that way?

_Maybe…I should try to ask him about the investigation. Can't be worse than this deafening silence._

"You didn't tell me."

"I'm sorry?", he asked, surprised, like he had completely forgotten that Molly was in the car with him.

"About Moran. You said you knew where he was and what he is up to. What is it?"

"Oh, that", he exhaled, like he was afraid she was referring to something else. He even grinned, all signs of tension and self-consciousness wearing off.

"He's most likely in Chechen. His next target will be Mother Russia and the attack or whatever he is planning will happen in Moscow. He's been out for a week, so we can expect it to happen any time next week."

"Russia? Why Russia? How are you certain it's Moscow?"

"The question, Molly, is why _not_. And the answer to your question is St. George. In this picture it has a red background, which is exactly the flag of Moscow: red background and St. George slaying a dragon. Also, the Gremlin figure is associated with sabotage, confrontation and the name itself suggests _Kremlin_. Coincidence?" he winked at her. "A third fact, and one Mycroft failed to notice until today is that the Russian woman is not in Baker Street anymore."

"What Russian woman?"

"Ludmilla Dyachenko. She's a hitman who settled across 221B, but is gone now. She'd started vigil on me when Moriarty spread the false news that I knew of his key code: a code that would supposedly provide one with anything. Now he's gone, neither Dyachenko or Moran are in London anymore and we get clues that points us to The Kremlin. Suggestive, don't you think? I'll need more data before I can point Mycroft in the right direction, though."

"Like what?"

"Like what exactly is it going to be. Is it a direct, terrorist-like attack, is it a mass campaign, is it a stealth attack? I don't know, and don't have any concrete information to pull off a deduction yet."

"I see. That Chechen region is sure tense, there's always lots of confrontations there because they claim to be an independent nation, but was never officially recognized as such by any country. So…with Moran they will have enough intelligence for the chechnyans to organize an attack to prove their point! But…they are so much smaller in number and military power, they will be easily squished with Russia's retaliation. How can that even work?"

Sherlock smiled.

"If it was all about numbers and military power, Napoleon would have won the Russian Campaign, wouldn't he? This is about a weak link, an Achilles' heel. They are looking for a breach."

"…Which is?"

"…Yet to be found. I don't have the faintest idea. Soon, though, hopefully."

Sherlock stopped the car and Molly realized they were already home. Molly didn't know if it was the alcohol or her love for him, but this "detective's-sidekick-kinda-role" was actually getting her very excited. She wondered if that was how John felt when going to solve crimes with Sherlock. They got out of the car and into the flat and Molly felt all that adrenaline and serotonin and all those hormones that made you feel bold and brave and good wearing off.

"Well…I'm calling it a night."

"Night, Molly."

Molly proceeded to her room to take a hot, long, relaxing shower before passing out cold.

_And it goes like this  
Take me by the tongue and I'll know you (take me by the tongue)  
Kiss me 'til you're drunk and I'll show you  
All the moves like Jagger  
I've got the moves like Jagger  
I've got the moooooves like Jagger_

_I don't need to try to control you  
Look into my eyes and I'll own you  
With them moves like Jagger  
I've got the moves like Jagger  
I've got the moooooves like Jagger_

_Oh, Sherlock. You're driving me crazy. And this is a strong, independent woman speaking, _Molly thought as she laid down on her bed and pulled the covers up her arms.

Sherlock went to his room and changed into his night robe. He started to experience a new sentiment along with that of excitement he feels when he is on the right track. It's somewhat like the experience of Moriarty: excitement and fear. He feared for those he treasured. It wasn't over with Moriarty. His friends could still be in real danger. He has to stop Moran. He _has_ to.


	9. Let her go

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss' amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

**Sidenote:** Hello people! I'm back, and sooner this time! Now, prepare for a big plot revelation. I hope you guys like it! I would like to tell you, before you read, that there are real people portrayed in this chapter but keep in mind that the story is purely fictional, sooo…please don't go on with "this is not fair! This is not true! How dare you say something like that!" and stuff of the sort, ok? As always, your feedback is very important and warms my heart in more levels than I can say. It's been a nice experience to write this. So…enough of chat, let's get to real business! And thank you for reading!

* * *

**Music for a dead man**

Chapter 9: Let her go

John Watson was on his way to work. He contemplated that, despite all the hours spent at the Charing Cross', there was something that was still missing: he couldn't feel completely accomplished at work. He knew it had nothing to do with the hospital or the crew. He knew it was because he missed the adrenaline. And he knew he was not going to live that Sherlock part of his life again, though deep inside he couldn't quite believe his best friend was really dead. As he stepped into the Hospital in an early Monday morning and was going directly to his department, he was beeped by Dr. Smith. He made a u-turn and went directly to his boss' office instead.

"You called, Dr. Smith?"

"Oh, yes. I would like to introduce you to Mary Morstan. She's starting today as the new head nurse. Mary, this is Dr. John Watson."

"Oh, I see. It's nice to meet you, Morstan", John offered his hand.

Mary's jaw dropped a little. She was surprised because she didn't know Dr. John Watson was working in Charing Cross'. Realizing he was still waiting for her to shake hands, she hastily shook hands with him, apologizing.

"Oh! Yes, it's nice to meet you too, Dr. Watson. Sorry, I was a bit surprised, I didn't know you worked here."

Smith raised his eyebrows.

"Do you know each other?"

John made a confused face. He couldn't remember her at all. Mary could see his brain on search mode and hurried to explain.

"Oh, no, not really", Mary replied, "I, uh, just saw him very quickly about twice at Bart's. Dr. Stamford said you used to be classmates."

"Oh, Mike!", John lightened up with the sudden revelation. "Yes, we did. That was years ago."

Smith smiled.

"Well, why don't you guide miss Morstan to the nurse department, Dr. Watson? I have my hands a bit full at the moment here with these papers."

"Sure. Come with me, miss Morstan", he said, motioning to the door, and then they both left the office.

* * *

"So, Colonel Moran. Please, have a seat", a woman motioned to a chair across from hers. "I really appreciate your assistance. How can I pay for your services? Surely you'll want more than your own initial proposal."

Moran chuckled, looking at her with disapproval. The woman knitted her eyebrows together. Perceiving her confusion, he started to explain.

"Some people have love driving their lives: the prospect of family and happiness. Others have the ambition for power: money, or ruling, which, by the way, suits Your Highness pretty well. Others, still, have their lives driven by duty: the pride in following their beliefs, the satisfaction of doing what one thinks is right. I've experienced all three, and, to tell the truth, it's bullshit. All I want now is to watch Rome catch on fire. I'm a mad dog, chasing my own tail, living in this ordinary, pathetic world. If I have anything that can shake the peace and order, you can bet I'll have it. To some minds, living can be _really_ boring."

The lady stared at him, wide-eyed. She felt her throat dry and only now realized, with a spark of contained panic, that this was a dangerous decision. And now she couldn't turn back.

"That Dumarov guy gave me the details a few days ago and I already went to see e Task Force men. I have to say, though, that I didn't expect any of this at all. Your Highness knows who the man you are fighting is. KGB is no kid's play. This is not going to be easy in the least, so prepare for bloodshed. Oh, and I feel that I must remind you again that my help is of a mere engineer. I will take no credit in your actions, thus, if you get caught, you won't say a word about me. I already have one country in my neck, I don't really need another, so…I will know if you spill the beans and _I will hunt you down myself. _I hope that is understood."

That was ridiculous. She was actually bowing to a man. To a _foreigner. _Yet, she knew it was the only way. Things are getting more and more complicated by the second.

"Yes, it is."

"Good!", he brightened up. "Two days. Now this is something for history books to carry on for years, isn't it? How will you call it? Bloody Mary's fateful Thursday?"

She smiled, though her expression showed irony.

"You know I'm not doing this alone."

"Oh yes, of course. Your dear cousin, right? But in the end, it will be only you. And the poor devil doesn't know a thing! Now _that's _evil, even for my standards", he mused.

* * *

Mycroft was organizing some paper work on his desk. He was about to leave his office for lunch when his mobile beeped. He looked it up to see a message from Sherlock.

_Any news? – SH_

_None. – MH, _he replied, as he was leaving Vauxhall Cross and walked to his car. A second later, another one.

_What about Dyachenko? –SH_

Mycroft stopped dead on his tracks. He typed back.

_What about her? –MH_

_Pick me up at Molly's. I'm hungry and bored. –SH_

Mycroft rolled his eyes and told the driver to go to Molly's flat.

_Meet you in ten. And please, for all that is holy and sweet, dress inconspicuously. –MH_

* * *

Molly was at the morgue, determining the cause of death of yet another deceased person. It was a young woman this time. She was trying her best, focusing all her attention on the task. The past weekend was tough for Molly: she felt like the air in her flat was too thick too breathe with Sherlock there. Though he seemed unaffected by last Friday night, Molly felt like she would lose whatever was left of her sanity anytime soon. Living with Sherlock, even for such a short time, was starting to actually cause her physical and emotional pain. Though deep in her heart she wanted to think otherwise, to have some hope, she just knew that she would never be able to spark Sherlock's interest, to actually get him to see her in a different light. Sherlock behaved like an automaton, totally devoid of feelings or attachment to anyone. Well, anyone but John. He wouldn't say a word, but she knew he missed his friend.

Miles away from Bart's, at Molly's flat, Sherlock was dressing in pretty much the same attire he wore last Friday night. As much as he tried to dismiss the thoughts, he couldn't help but remember the events at The Giant Irish. Sherlock was starting to get mad. This was getting out of control. Maybe he should accept Mycroft's offer after all and go live with him. It couldn't be worse than having Molly's constant presence messing with his head. His mind was too cold and precise, fully devoted to science and purposefully lacking room for sentiment, or anything unimportant for that matter, to have room to care deeply for anyone. Or at least that was what he kept telling himself. Molly was like a flood of arrows trying to pierce through his wall of indifference. And day by day, little by little, she was starting to win his heart. And this could not be.

Sherlock's phone beeped.

_I'm here. You ready? – MH_

_Yes. Meet you in a minute – SH, _and then Sherlock sprang down the stairs to meet his brother.

* * *

John was having rather a good day so far. The new girl, Mary, sparked his interest instantly. The blonde woman had a delicate beauty and yet firm disposition. It was no wonder that she was the chief nurse at the hospital. She also had a sweet demeanor and no longer than just a few minutes of conversation, John thought her to be a very interesting woman. As midday approached, he felt his stomach protest.

"Hm. Lunch time", he said to himself, glancing at his watch. John heard footsteps behind him and, turning around, he saw Mary walking in his direction. _Well, this is just as good time as any, _he thought to himself.

"Miss Morstan, would you give me the pleasure of your company at lunch?"

Mary slowed down her pacing, answering as she approached John.

"Oh. Sure. Thank you, Dr. Watson."

"Oh please, just John is fine."

"Then no need to call me miss Morstan. Just Mary is fine."

They shared a short smile before John offered to lead the way.

"Shall we?"

* * *

"Dyanchenko has _left_? Why wasn't _I_ informed of such a thing?", cried Mycroft.

Sherlock shrugged, sipping at his wine before replying.

"Pretty much the same reason that the Yarders come to me. Incompetence."

"But this is not the police, Sherlock! These are our top intelligence agents!"

Sherlock stared at Mycroft like he had just said the stupidest thing ever.

"…Of course they are, though that doesn't mean much, does it? Unless…", Sherlock trailed off suggestively.

Mycroft stared at Sherlock for a long minute. He was locking and unlocking his jaw, until he finally decided on what to say.

"They wouldn't."

"Oh, they would. Not everyone is as patriot as ourselves. Some people _do_ betray the country, if given proper incentive."

"Brilliant. So we are getting slower because there are people working for Moran right under my nose", Mycroft chuckled darkly, "of course, _of course, _I should've known…"

"So, with all this info I just gave to you, what do you plan to do?"

"Why, I must point the Interpol to Russia and warn the Russian authorities as well, of course."

"Right. Good luck with convincing the Queen", Sherlock replied, sipping at his wine again.

Now that the subject had died, Mycroft couldn't just ignore Sherlock's choice of clothing.

"By the way, brother, I've been meaning to say since our meeting that I didn't know you had such outfits in your wardrobe. When I said inconspicuously, I wasn't exactly expecting a Top Gun style", he chuckled.

"Well, it worked last week. By the way, I have a favor to ask of you."

Mycroft raised one eyebrow at him as he asked the waitress for the bill.

"Which is?"

"I accept your offer. I'm moving to your house."

Mycroft raised a second eyebrow, now eyeing Sherlock with a very surprised, almost comical expression.

"What has happened?", Mycroft asked as he signed the bill, dropping both brows in a frown.

"Nothing. Nothing _does _happen, at least nothing of importance."

Mycroft sighed, put his elbows on the table intertwining his fingers, eyeing Sherlock very deliberately. He then smiled, understanding all too well.

"Of course. You can come and stay, since you feel so…uncomfortable by her presence", he finally replied with a smirk after a long minute.

"What? I never said I felt uncomfortable!", he hissed, squinting his eyes.

Mycroft laughed.

"Really, Sherlock, I understand. I really do. Shall we go now and fetch your things?", he asked as he got up and strolled out of the restaurant, with Sherlock by his side. Sherlock's look was shooting daggers at Mycroft.

"Forget it."

Mycroft seemed amused yet again by his brother's reaction.

"Oh? Changed your mind?"

"Yes. I won't give you the _pleasure_ of my company", Sherlock said dryly as he entered the car, going back to Molly's flat.

* * *

Mycroft was back in his office. He sat on his chair, contemplating what to do next. He wasn't sure who could be trusted. As if Moran and his criminal network wasn't enough, now he also had to deal with traitors in the MI-6, possibly the MI-5 too, and he knew there had been some in the police. This situation was proving itself to be difficult. He just knew, deep down, that Sherlock will end up being involved in Moran's case on a personal level and he also knew how _reckless_ he is. He can even picture it, as much as he puts effort on catching Moran, he just knew it. Mycroft was now punching himself internally for not catching Moran when he had the chance, right after Moriarty's death. He knew, though, that any information about the network would die with Moran, so letting him loose is a strategy to actually catch his accomplices. Or rather _was _a good strategy, for now he didn't know what information about him was true or false.

Mycroft sighed heavily. Oh well. He had to start somewhere. He had to warn the Ministry of Defense of Russia. However, he couldn't just call them about such a delicate situation that, though he was sure it was certain, was mere speculation. The Queen must be the judge to such important a matter. Mycroft picked the phone on his desk and waited for a reply.

"Call the Buckingham Palace. I need to speak to Her Majesty the Queen", he ordered, and a minute later he was greeted.

"Your Majesty. This is Mycroft Holmes, from the MI-6. I have called in concern to Moriarty's file."

"What? Don't tell me the man's back from the _dead_", she mused.

"No, Your Majesty, the man is as dead as can be. This is about a man named Sebastian Moran. He is Moriarty's faithful follower, his pupil, his legacy. He has critical information that concerns the security of our country and, very likely, other nations as well. I have reason to believe he is in Russia right now, plotting something big."

"Oh? The pupil of an actor, you say? But I thought this whole criminal network enactment was over, what with both Moriarty's and Holmes' death."

"Moriarty wasn't an actor, Your Majesty. He was just as real as Sherlock Holmes was."

"But it was proved otherwise, wasn't it? Moriarty walked free and your brother killed himself. Do you have any proof of what this Moran man is doing?"

There was silence for a short moment.

"No, Your Majesty. I can't prove it to you, but I can assure you he _is_ real, and dangerously so."

"It's simple, Mr. Holmes. If you can't give proof to your accusations, then I cannot just take them for granted and give a possibly false alarm of something _that_ big. The very credibility of the United Kingdom would be at stake."

Again, silence.

"Of course. Sorry to bother you, Your Majesty. You'll have proof of it as soon as I can manage."

"Then I shall be waiting. Have a good day, Mr. Holmes", and then she hung up.

Mycroft sighed deeply. Oh well. Surely there is no time for such thing. Moran will strike before anyone can do anything about it.

Mycroft's mobile beeped.

_Any luck? – SH_

_None whatsoever. – MH, _he replied. As if Sherlock already knew the answer, the next message came just a second later.

_I need a plane to Moscow ASAP. – SH_

_Forget it. I'm not sending you into the lion's den. – MH_

_Things have changed. The Woman has called. Meet me at Molly's. – SH_

Mycroft got up at once. Things indeed might change. The game is _on._

* * *

Molly turned the key to the door of her apartment. To her utter surprise and shock, Mycroft was sitting comfortably in her armchair.

"Evening, Dr. Hooper", Mycroft greeted her.

"Evening, Mycroft. I, uh, didn't know you were coming."

"Oh, don't mind me. We'll be out in a minute."

Wait. _We? _What was that supposed to mean? As Molly thought to herself, she saw Sherlock leaving his room, shutting the door behind him, with a bag in his hand.

"Sherlock? Where are you going?", she asked, crossing her arms and putting a on a frown. This was way out of the blue. Can't be good in the slightest.

"I'm going to Russia", he replied simply.

Molly's face turned into something she couldn't be quite sure of what it was but it clearly wasn't very inviting, for Mycroft chose that exact moment to leave the flat.

"I'll wait for you outside. Here, I got this", he said, fetching Sherlock's bag and leaving the two alone. Molly could swear she caught a glimpse of Mycroft smiling, though.

Molly just stared at Sherlock for a whole minute, unsure of what to say. Sherlock seemed to sense the tension so he decided to speak up.

"I won't be long."

"Wha…When did you just…decide to go? This is dangerous, Sherlock. What's happening, exactly?"

"I decided just a few hours ago. I know it's dangerous, but I'll be fine. The Woman has found the breach. She has found out a good deal of information and I've done a little research myself, so…I believe I know with a fair amount of confidence what's going to happen."

Molly just stood there, trying to digest his words. The Woman? Who the hell was that?

"The Woman? Who's that?"

"Irene Adler. You saw her at the morgue. Oh, wait, that wasn't her body…well, she tricked me into giving away important info to Moriarty, but then I tricked her into giving away all the gazillion pounds worth of information she had on her phone to Mycroft. The Woman is quite wicked", he said as naturally as he would if he was to go to a grocery store.

Molly was silent again, taking yet another moment to digest.

"Oh. Then the mobile you were x-raying that time, months ago, was actually hers? _Wait, _are you telling me a woman outsmarted _you __**and **__Mycroft?_"

"…Yes. But I beat her in the end and all was well", he replied hesitatingly.

"Then if she was such a headache, what makes you think she's actually telling the truth willingly?"

"The Woman had her reasons to side with Moriarty. She treasured her life above anything else, which is understandable. With Moran, though, it's different: she has no reason to follow his orders. Besides, I've saved her life. She was supposed to be dead: twice. I'm positive she is helping us, for she's risking her very existence by collecting all that information."

"But why do _you_ have to go?"

"Because the government has no interest in Moran. They don't think he poses real threat, which is a grave mistake. If he is to be found and caught, I have to go. There's hardly anyone else for the job."

There was silence and a minute later, Sherlock grabbed his coat on the coat rack by the door and put it on. He grabbed his scarf as well and turned on his heels, facing Molly. The look on her face did something to him that he wasn't prepared to feel. He felt a weight in his stomach and a lump in his throat. Sherlock swallowed hard.

"Well, I have to go."

He was about to turn and leave when Molly grabbed him by the wrist and he half turned around, surprised.

"Wait", she said, retrieving the scarf from his hands. Sherlock wasn't sure what was happening, but he waited anyway. Deliberately avoiding his gaze, Molly put the fabric around his neck and neatly knotted the scarf in place. A moment passed and Molly just stood there. Sherlock was starting to get nervous. When he was about to try to say something, Molly hugged him, burying her forehead on his chest. Sherlock tensed. Sherlock wasn't used to this closeness; as matter of fact, he avoided such thing. However, surprisingly enough, it didn't feel unpleasant in the least.

"Just…come back in one piece", she said with some restrain in her voice. Sherlock couldn't help but smile. Instinctively, he put his arms around her as well and found himself surprised at his own actions. Molly seemed surprised as well because Sherlock could feel her tense under his embrace.

"I will. Now, I really must go", he said as he pulled out from her embrace. He looked at her for a long minute. He could see the reflection of his expression in her eyes, and how her pupils were dilated, her cheeks flushed. Sherlock bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, much in the same fashion he did when she spent Christmas Eve in his flat with him, John and Mrs. Hudson, except that now he didn't feel embarrassed. He actually liked it.

"Goodbye, Molly", he said, finally turning around and closing the door behind him.

"Goodbye, Sherlock", she replied to an empty flat.

* * *

Sherlock had arrived at the airport. He got out of the car and fetched his hand bag, making his way to a small, private plane, clearly waiting for him. As he was climbing the stairs to the plane, he could see Mycroft going after him. What's this? Sherlock only hoped he didn't want a goodbye kiss.

"Your documents, Sherlock", Mycroft said, handing to him a false but perfectly built Russian passport.

"Oh, of course. Thank you", Sherlock replied. When Mycroft didn't go back, Sherlock asked:

"You coming?"

"Of course I am. I cannot just let you loose in Russia, so, I'm afraid you will have to endure my company for a few days", Mycroft replied with a smile.

Sherlock just sighed and rolled his eyes. Oh well, there wasn't really much that he could do. He climbed the rest of the stairs and made himself comfortable in one of the seats. Mycroft chose a seat in the same row but opposite side, putting the corridor between them. He knew how touchy Sherlock can be when he felt uncomfortable and this trip would certainly not be high on his list, even though he was clearly excited on the prospect of catching Moran. No, Mycroft knew, even though Sherlock would_ never _admit it to himself or anybody else for that matter, that his little brother might be learning to have some sentiments in his heart again after a long, long time. Though Mycroft didn't witness Sherlock and Molly's farewell, he could deduce enough. There were a couple or so strands of hair on his coat collar that clearly didn't belong to Sherlock. In addition, his little brother smelled faintly of formaldehyde. With this data, Mycroft could deduce confidently that they hugged, at the very least. It was not like Sherlock to do such a thing, of course, so this is important.

Mycroft chuckled. Who would have thought? Sherlock was actually starting to fall for the doctor. Maybe this whole thing was turning out to be for the best.

_Love is a defect, caring is not an advantage, but still…what is life without feelings?_, Mycroft thought to himself. He could only wish the best for his brother. Mycroft risked a glance in Sherlock's direction. He was looking out the window, as the plane was taking off. The lights were turned off and Sherlock just sat there, looking at nothing in particular.

**Let her go (by Passenger)**

_Well you only need the light when its burning low  
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow  
Only know you love her when you let her go_

_Only know you've been high when you're feeling low  
Only hate the road when you're missing home  
Only know you love her when you let her go  
And you let her go_

In his head, Sherlock saw Moran and he wondered if the man had any idea of what he, his brother and The Woman were up to. His mind then started to wander on its own, going from Moran to Molly, and how sad she looked just a while ago. She looked tired. Would she be all right? Of course she would. Molly is a strong, independent, smart woman – or at least averagely so. There wasn't anything special about her, and yet, Molly was constantly on his mind. Something about her just made her special, made her matter the most, yet Sherlock couldn't quite name it. Oh bloody hell. Sherlock couldn't concentrate on the case. At this rate, he wouldn't be able to rest and even though this trip wouldn't take too long, he would rather black out than face his…_emotional _problems, he thought, spitting out internally the word "emotional".

"I need sleeping pills, Mycroft."

Slightly surprised to actually be addressed so soon in the trip, Mycroft raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He just fished from his pocket a pack with pills and handed one to Sherlock. Stretching his left arm, Sherlock retrieved the pill from Mycroft's hand and swallowed it immediately.

_Staring at the bottom of your glass  
Hoping one day you'll make a dream last  
But dreams come slow and they go so fast_

_You see her when you close your eyes  
Maybe one day you'll understand why  
Everything you touch surely dies_

Mycroft observed how frustrated and conflicted Sherlock seemed to be. It was quite a rare sight really. He couldn't just contain his amusement, though deep down he was a bit worried as well.

"Didn't expect the doctor would cause such a mess, did you?"

"Oh, _please do __**shut up**_, Mycroft."

* * *

Molly stepped out of her bathroom, ready to call it a night. It was the first day since Sherlock is a guest in her house that he was away from London. Molly walked out of her room and into the living room as if to make sure he really wasn't there anymore. The house felt empty now. He was always a headache, always complaining and being his horrible self, but he was the man she loved. She would miss him terribly and worry sick. Molly saw his violin on the coffee table and couldn't help but smile. Now that she actually thought about it, Molly decided that the violin had so much about Sherlock in it. Its fine form, beautifully design and capability of producing the most soul touching music, from happiness and excitement to the deepest sadness is just so much like Sherlock that Molly thought no other instrument would fit him so perfectly. After spending a few minutes to appreciate the instrument while thinking about Sherlock, Moly turned the lights off and went back to her bedroom. There she layed, facing the ceiling and blushing at the memories of the last events with Sherlock. She totally thought that Sherlock would shove her away and instead of that he just…held her back. He even kissed her! Okay, on the forehead, _but it was kiss,_ and it was much more than she could said about a lot of people who knew him. Sherlock just…didn't do that. He avoided contact as much as he could because it wasn't like him, it made him uncomfortable because he never knew nor cared how to behave socially. Molly was starting to build some hope in her heart that Sherlock might actually like her, like, really _like her, _in a different way than he likes John; hopefully he was starting to finally notice her. Hopefully.

_But you only need the light when its burning low  
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow  
Only know you love her when you let her go_

_Only know you've been high when you're feeling low  
Only hate the road when you're missing home  
Only know you love her when you let her go_

* * *

"Sherlock, wake up."

No reply.

"Sherlock, _wake. UP"_, the voice tried again, this time poking Sherlock.

Sherlock opened his eyes, looking at the person who disturbed his slumber. A couple seconds passed and his brain caught up with his sight and he realized it was Mycroft.

"We have a train to catch", Mycroft explained.

_Oh. Of course. We are to meet The Woman, _Sherlock thought.

"How long was I out? What time is it?"

"Long enough. It's 23:10, Prague local time", replied a female voice.

Sherlock instinctively turned to face the direction of the newcomer and, sure enough, Irene Adler was standing at the door of the plane with a smile on her lips.

"Hello, Sherlock. Long time no see", she spoke again, "and you too, Mycroft. Come now, at this rate we will lose our train", and then she turned on her heels and waltzed off of the plane. Sherlock got up from his seat, fetched his hand bag and proceeded down the stairs, following Mycroft. Not much further from the plane was a black Volvo with the back doors opened with a very pleased Irene Adler sitting inside.

"Hello", Sherlock replied back, closing the door behind him and as soon as he did, the car started to move. A long minute passed with both Sherlock and Irene watching one another. Mycroft decided to intervene, for he knew Sherlock wouldn't speak any further if the subject wasn't brought up.

"So…miss Adler. We are to catch a train to Moscow so, as we all know, we won't gather attention form the Russian authorities by directly landing there. I believe everything is already taken care of, then?"

"Of course. Thirty hours of travel, first class, with a stop in Poland and Belarus."

"Belarus? I trust you have worked out our way through Belarus _without _a visa, haven't you?", Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, Mycroft, you have so little faith. Everything will happen in perfect timing and we will arrive in Moscow on Wednesday, by eight in the morning. I know everyone involved in this operation of ours. Well, I know what they like…except for you and dear Sherlock here. Maybe he shall give me the pleasure of having dinner, though?", Irene said, looking at Sherlock and smiling. Sherlock just rolled his eyes in return but said nothing.

"Oh, you are such a bore, Sherlock. I thought we had some…chemistry between us. You can't deny your fascination for myself."

Irene was clearly having fun. Mycroft was doing his best to ignore the scene. Sherlock was feeling very impatient an irritated. Maybe it was because he was still sleepy. Ha! As if. No, Sherlock knew it was because of Irene. Yes, it was true: Sherlock indeed felt fascinated by her. He respected her as someone which intelligence almost rivaled his own. Almost, because The Woman was still susceptible to sentiment, and he used that weakness against her.

Sherlock wouldn't be able to know exactly how much time passed with him looking at her and alternating between squinting and frowning but finally, _finally, _the car stopped at the train station. Sherlock got out of the car immediately, followed by Mycroft and Irene. The driver also got out, fetching Irene's bag and leading the way. Once inside the train, Sherlock looked for his booth. It was very neat and comfortable though he felt he wouldn't even need that much comfort to sleep. That was new. Sleeping during a case. Ridiculous.

_Staring at the ceiling in the dark  
Same old empty feeling in your heart  
Cos love comes slow and it goes so fast_

Sherlock made sure he locked his booth, took off his coat and scarf and put them on a nearby hook on the wall and then proceeded to sleep. He spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing in particular. It was too dark and he just wanted to actually shut down his mind for a few hours. He never expected to ever feel the need to such a thing. His mind was what he treasured the most. Since when did he ever want to turn it off, even for a second? Since Molly started to mess up with it, that's when. It didn't take long for him to drift to sleep.

"_Sherlock! You're back!"_

"_Yes I am, Molly."_

"_Um…I'm so glad."_

"_Why exactly?"_

"_Because I thought…that you would occupy your mind with…more important things from now on."_

"Sherlock?", someone whispered.

"_Oh, that's actually true."_

"_Then why are you here?"_

"_Because…you __**are **__very important to me, Molly."_

"Sherlock?", again, but a bit louder this time.

_Well you see her when you fall asleep  
But never to touch and never to keep  
Cos you loved her too much and you dived too deep_

_Well you only need the light when its burning low  
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow  
Only know you love her when you let her go_

Sherlock opened his eyes. Irene Adler was looking at him with a very seductive smile, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Woman", he said grudgingly.

"Did you know that you were mumbling in your sleep?"

"What do you want?", he asked impatiently.

There was a heartbeat of a pause.

"Nothing much. I was just wondering if you would like to have dinner."

"I politely decline", he answered without even batting an eye.

"Oh, Sherlock, when are you ever going to have any fun?" she asked half teasing, half exasperated.

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen, Woman."

"Never?", she asked with a puppy face.

"That's right."

"It's because of Molly, isn't it? Who is this girl?"

Sherlock's throat ran dry.

"How do you know about her? _What _do you know about her?"

"Nothing whatsoever. That's why I'm asking you, sweetie. You were mumbling her name in your sleep."

"She's a friend. Now, if you please, leave me alone", he said, turning his back on her, rolling on his bed to face the opposite direction.

"Oh well. As you wish. Sweet dreams, Sherlock", he kissed him on the cheek and left.

Now that Sherlock thought about it, he wondered how the hell she managed the get in. He was sure he had locked the door. Ugh. If The Woman continues to affirm her presence that way, Sherlock might snap anytime soon. He just couldn't wait to get back home, to hateful peacefulness in Molly's flat. Better than having The Woman behind his neck all the time.

_Only know you've been high when you're feeling low  
Only hate the road when you're missing home  
Only know you love her when you let her go  
And you let her go  
And you let her go  
Well you let her go_

_Cos you only need the light when its burning low  
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow  
Only know you love her when you let her go_

_Only know you've been high when you're feeling low  
Only hate the road when you're missing home  
Only know you love her when you let her go_

* * *

Sherlock spent the whole day locked in his booth. It was already dinner time when he decided to meet Mycroft and Irene in the diner.

"Oh. Junior finally decided to join us, hasn't he?"

"Oh, spare me the chit chat. I came here so we can revise the plan. By the way, where are we, exactly?"

"Of course. Always pragmatic", she mused, "we are in Belarus, almost in Russia borders."

Sherlock squinted his eyes at Irene. She smiled in return.

"Why are you doing all of this, Woman? You could've just given us the info and put us in the right direction. You don't really need to go all the way to Moscow. What is it?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes, then sighed. And frowned. Then looked away from them.

"Oh, I see", Sherlock smiled back at her, "An arrangement, isn't it? Mycroft is giving you free pass to the U.K. again in exchange for your valuable help. I hope the Buckingham Palace won't hear about it, brother", he directed the last part to Mycroft.

"I miss London, you see. Belgravia is my home."

"Whatever. The case."

"Right. Well, as I had told you before, I've got some information from a certain Prime Minister of Putin. It was rather easy actually. So dull, I expected to have had more fun."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and Irene chuckled.

"Ok, seriously now. There is a movement to bring back the Czar. So…they are plotting to throw down Putin. We all know that won't be an easy task. So, in exchange of a privileged position in the government for his life time, the Prime Minister is helping the cause."

"After all this time? The Romanov Family has been dead since 1918. Who is going to be the Czar, then?"

"Not Czar, Sherlock. Tsarina."

Sherlock was a bit surprised at that, but said nothing.

"Well, it's Czar and then Tsarina. Let me explain: the Romanov Dynasty ended with Nicholas II, that's true, but if we go back through his family tree, we will see that there are two branches that descend directly from Nicholas I, Nicholas II's great-grandfather. The man had, among other children, two sons in specific: Alexander II and Nicholas Nikolaevich. The latter never got to be Czar, for his oldest brother, Alexander II, was destined for the throne. Alexander II had then, among other children, two sons: Alexander III – Czar after his father and also Nicholas II's father – and Vladimir Alexandrovich, who never got to be the Czar either. Vladimir had a son, Kirill Vladmirovich, who had a son, Vladimir Kirillovich – Nicholas II's cousin in second degree – , who died about twenty years ago and named his only daughter, Grand Duchess Maria Vladmirovna Romanov as the present Head of the Romanov family and rightful heir to the throne, in case the Romanov family is to rule again someday."

Irene took a sip from her wine, allowing the trio to let that information sink in.

"However, there has been some fight over the matter. Alexander II's brother, Nicholas Nikolaevich, also had descendants. His son, Peter Nikolaevich, had a son, Prince Roman Petrovich, who had two sons: Prince Nicholas Romanovich Romanov and Prince Dimitri Romanovich Romanov. Nicholas is the oldest brother and, with the death of Maria Romanov's father twenty years ago, deliberately ignored her heritage and entitled himself as the Head of the Romanov family and rightful heir to the throne. Nicholas and Maria are something like cousins in five degrees, with their only common ancestor being Nicholas I, the Czar who ruled Russia from 1825 to 1855. To put it shortly, Maria's branch of the family is closer to the Czar than Nicholas', but Nicholas wants the throne anyway. They had managed to make an agreement, though. Nicholas oldest daughter, Natalia, has a daughter named Nicoletta and Maria, on the other side, has a son, Grand Duke George Mikhailovich. They agreed to stop fighting over the matter if those two were to marry, making George the rightful heir of the Romanov Dynasty one way or the other."

"But when you say Czar and then Tsarina, that implies that Nicholas is not to rule for long."

"Yes, you see, Maria's planning to kill her cousin so she can claim the throne. And with Nicoletta and George's wedding that happened a month ago, she will have a strong ally to accomplish such undertaking: her own son."

"So the history always repeats itself, then. The lust for power and money. I can't see what Moran can personally achieve with that, though. He knows very well he is risking his neck. Putin is a strong man with strong, loyal allies."

"Allies who side with the strongest party. Moran wants chaos itself, Sherlock", Mycroft spoke for the first time, "He just wants to do something. He gets bored as well and he doesn't give a penny for anyone's life. For all we know about people like him, he just wants to see the world die."

"Something that big is surely going to rock the world for good while and Moran would walk out of the mess invisibly", Sherlock replied.

"Unless we catch him first."

Sherlock was torn in excitement and worry. He was excited for the hunt, like a bloodhound after a trail, but he also wanted it to end as soon as possible. Moran was proving to be a very dangerous man with uncontrollable behavior. Unlike Moriarty, he would accept any offer to do anything at all if it meant disorder. Moriarty was classier, for he chose his clients. Moran would shoot aimlessly just for the fun of it.

"Yes, brother, unless we catch him first. Well, if you allow me, I'm retrieving to my booth. See you in the morning", Sherlock said, getting up from his seat and away from their table.

Irene waited until Sherlock was out of sight and then turned to Mycroft.

"He's different, isn't he?"

A minute of silence and then Mycroft replied.

"A lot has happened in a very short time, miss Adler."

"I can imagine. Moriarty's death, the deliberate separation from John…and Molly."

That last name caught Mycroft's attention. He raised an eyebrow at her, surprised that the woman knew anything about Dr. Hooper at all.

"Oh? When did you get from rival number two to his closer confidant? What did he tell you about her?"

"Nothing, actually. He just mumbled her name in his sleep and said she was a friend, but I take it she's someone very important to him. Maybe more important than a 'friend' usually is, isn't she?"

"I know nothing more than you do, miss Adler. If you want to know about it, you will have to ask him directly."

"Oh, but we both know he won't answer anything of that matter."

"Yes, indeed."

They resumed their dinner, untouched since Sherlock joined them. It was almost cold now, but still edible. Mycroft finished first, drinking his wine and asking the waiter for the bill.

"Just…leave him be, Irene. Sherlock can be very unstable."

Mycroft never spoke to Irene using her first name. Maybe it was serious then.

"All right, all right. I just thought I could have some fun with him."

Mycroft paid the bill, got up from his table and with a sweet smile but rather cold voice retreated to his booth as well.

"Have a good night, miss Adler."

* * *

Sherlock couldn't sleep. He almost had Moran in his hands now. There was too much adrenaline in his blood and he couldn't rest at all. As the hours passed, he saw the vegetation and topography changing. Even though it was Russia, today was unseasonably cold. He could see a slight frost on the fields and just thought it was beautiful. So much different from what he would have to face soon. He could see now buildings in the distance and finally, the train station could be spotted. He fetched his things and got out of his booth, finding Mycroft and Irene all ready to disembark. The train stopped and the doors flew open, greeting the three foreigners with a freezing wind and soft snow flakes on their faces.

"Well, then", Irene said, "Let's go", leading the way to a spot where a black BMW awaited them.

_Cos you only need the light when its burning low  
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow  
Only know you love her when you let her go_

_Only know you've been high when you're feeling low  
Only hate the road when you're missing home  
Only know you love her when you let her go  
And you let her go_

* * *

**Footnote: **I apologize to my Russian readers if my research about the Romanov has any flaws. I want as well to make sure to you, dear readers, that I do not empathize with any political tendencies whatsoever and this whole Romanov story, while portraying real people, is purely, entirely fictional. I don't want in any way to offend anyone, so please have that in mind while reading. I hope you are enjoying reading this fic as much as I am enjoying writing it. What about the songs, though? I hope they fit as well as I think they do. This whole "Molly is on my mind" kinda phase is taking a while, isn't it? Haha, do not fret. Just keep reading! You guys are the best. Thank you very much!


	10. Zombie

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss' amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

**Sidenote:** Oh God. I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I feel for keeping you waiting this long for an update. I'm truly, truly sorry, and I won't just start telling all the reasons that took this long for me to finish this chapter because I feel I'll be just stalling. But the truth is, I felt like I had set the expectations so high that I simply couldn't think of a good enough chapter for you people. It took me much, much time. I had writer's block because a. I was worrying about delivering an intelligent, well-written piece instead of just writing anything that came to mind just to update sooner and b. I'm currently sharing my room with my mother and working full time so when I get back home I can't really concentrate with her around. That left me very little time to write. I really hope you can forgive me. You can't imagine how hard I had to try with this chapter, it was most definitely the hardest to write yet. So please, _please _give me some much needed feedback. You don't even have to make an account to share your opinions. Please be true, if you think it sucks, just let it out of your chest, I promise I won't feel offended! Also, thank you all of you who read my fic and shout out to the people who reviewed: you gals are the best. So! I better stop before this sidenote gets bigger than the chapter itself. Oh yeah, almost forgot: I put some easter eggs in the chapter. Like, a few references from movies / books / games. Can you guess them? You can try your answers by reviewing or by sending me an ask on tumblr (iwantallthatjazz dot tumblr dot com). The first one to get all the easter eggs will get a A4 size Sherlock drawing done by me free of charge! Yes, I will ship it anywhere in the world. I'm sorry I cannot afford to give you anything better. And thank you ALL for reading! Good luck!

* * *

**Music for a dead man**

Chapter 10: Zombie

"So, tomorrow is the big day. Are you all ready to do this until the end?"

"Yes, colonel Moran, sir!", the men cried in unison.

"Good. Well, as you know, this operation was made much easier thanks to the help of the Prime Minister. He gave us access to top secret information concerning the Kremlin. How best to strike, if not from the inside, right? And that's what we are going to do, we must rip out their very heart and only then you shall have what you treasure most. You were trained well. This is an organized operation, never before seen in the recent years of your land. This will be my last speech and, from now on, you will answer to our fellow comrade in battle, miss Ludmilla Dyachenko!"

There was a fuss, a mix of cries and whistles, all cheering up their new commander.

* * *

Sherlock, Mycroft and Irene arrived at the hotel. Much to the woman's disappointment, it was not a five star accommodation. She knew, though, that they could not allow themselves such luxury: certainly not because of lack of money, that was hardly the case, but because they had to keep a low profile and a top quality stay would make them easily noticeable. After checking in the hotel they all assembled in Irene's room.

"Well, miss Adler?", asked Mycroft, "I trust you have some info about Moran and Dyachenko? Surely that Russian woman has something to do with it."

"It seems so. We'll find out about that soon enough. I'll have lunch with the Prime Minister and hopefully I'll be able to get that information from him."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. How much longer does she intend to use those sex euphemisms? Irene must have understood the meaning behind Sherlock's reaction, though, for she chuckled and then carried on.

"I mean it literally, Sherlock. As in, actual food, at an actual restaurant."

Oh. Of course.

"We should leave in an hour. Get yourselves ready, will you, boys? I'll fill you in with the details once we are on our way."

* * *

"So, how are they?", asked Moran.

"Pretty excited, sir", Dyachenko replied.

"Hm…that's good". They exchanged a smile.

A moment passed. Dyanchenko grabbed a nearby bottle of Vodka and offered the drink to Moran.

"Sure", he replied. "a toast to victory", he said, both raising their glasses with a smile on their faces. Dyachenko emptied the bottle with one gulp.

"Why are you still here, sir? I thought your participation was over. Is it something I can help you with?", she offered.

"I'm here to prove a hypothesis. I think Sherlock Holmes is not dead."

"What?", she asked, surprised. "But you saw him jump to his death! We all did! How can it be?", she said, a bit skeptical.

"Well, that's…half right. We saw him jump, we saw his body, or at least what it seemed to be, but we never really saw him landing, actually crashing, did we?"

That realization took her by surprise. Now that he mentioned it, Dyachenko replayed the scene in her head and, sure enough, he was right.

"I see", she said after a moment.

"But, if that's true", she spoke again, "why would he come? That's just too dangerous for him. Why would he take the risk?"

"Well, as far as the police and the government are concerned, he IS dead, isn't he? There's nothing that proves otherwise. For now. To top it off, he died with a crappy reputation and there is only one thing that can prove that Mr. Moriarty was a criminal mastermind and also clean Holmes' reputation."

He retrieved a mobile phone from his jacket pocket, slowly, as if to make the whole scene more dramatic.

"I was close enough to Bart's to hear the gun shot. While everybody was worried about Sherlock, I managed to get to Bart's rooftop and fetch his phone. I was about to get Mr. Moriarty out of there as well, but the police came too soon. I had to leave him there…"

He said that last part bitterly, but soon recovered and then continued.

"I thought about destroying it but there must be other important things inside this besides Mr. Moriarty's confession. I've been trying to crack the phone open so I can see all the data inside it but that son of a bitch is smart. I still haven't figured it out."

"So…if he is indeed alive he will do whatever he can to get his life back, right? And to do that, the first thing he needs is to get the police to find out the truth, by handing over that phone."

"That's not the only reason. The man has friends, people he cares for. If he didn't, he wouldn't sacrifice his career, his name and very possibly his own life. But no, no, he is too clever to just die like that. He is like master Moriarty, except that he is…boring."

Dyachenko wasn't sure of what to say. All of this was new and quite frankly it had never crossed her mind. She wouldn't have thought about it if Moran had not talked about it.

Moran's phone rang. He picked it up at once.

"Yes?", he asked lazily. A second later he frowned, then locked his jaw, unlocked it, then smiled, and then finally replied.

"I see. Good job. I'll send Dyachenko to check on it."

He hung up and she immediately looked at him. _Looks like I'm on a mission_, she thought to herself.

"I need you to go to this restaurant", he said while writing down the address on his notebook, "and check on our dear Prime Minister. I think he might have…an unexpected meeting."

He tore the sheet he had written on off the notebook and handed it to her.

* * *

"This is the place. Here, put these in your ears. These bluetooth earphones will allow you to listen to everything this small device here records", Irene said, handing the small earphones to both Sherlock and Mycroft and showing them the other, tinier still, recording device. They were inside the car, receiving final instructions from the woman.

"Your table is three tables from the left of mine. I'll get inside first. Be discreet.", she said, opening the door. They nodded and waited. About two minutes later, they followed her inside. She already had taken her seat and was chatting animatedly with a man.

No one in particular seemed to have acknowledged them coming inside, except for a waiter, who readily came to them and asked if they had a reservation.

"Yes, we do. It's on my name, Michel Mayfort Mos."

Sherlock mentally laughed but managed to keep a cold face, giving nothing away. The waiter guided them to their table, exactly where Irene said it would be. The tables closest to the Prime Minister were purposely empty to allow him and Irene the privacy he think they would have.

_Michel Mayfort Mos?, _said Sherlock, moving his lips so only Mycroft could read them. Mycroft just snorted quietly in return, dismissing the subject. They listened intently to the conversation between Irene and the Prime Minister. None of them, however, saw her pouring something into his drink.

* * *

Dyachenko entered the restaurant. Her mission was very simple: to see if the Prime Minister's date was dangerous somehow and if she was a threat to their plan. When she got there, though, she was informed that the politician had just left.

_Oh balls_, Dyachenko thought to herself, _where could the man have gone to now?_

Good thing for her that the underground terrorist network is full of people. Lots of people. So many people in fact, that they were Moran and Dyanchenko's eyes and ears in the city, much like the homeless network in London was to Sherlock.

Dyachenko fetched her phone.

"This is Commander Dyachenko speaking. I need further information about the Prime Minister. Yes, that's right, he was here in the restaurant and I missed him for, like, five minutes. Yes, I'll wait."

A couple minutes passed. She was starting to get impatient.

"Oh. It's all right, I'm fairly sure I know where he had gone to now. No, I drove all the way here, so there's no need to get me a car. I'll go there by myself. Just stay alert."

She hung up and started driving fast.

* * *

"Well, that was quite easy. Now to part two", Irene said, getting out of the Prime Minister's car.

"Don't let your guard down just yet. We were lucky he came alone. A Prime Minister, with no driver, no security? Really? How idiot this man can be?", Sherlock said, getting out of the car as well with Mycroft on his side.

"He takes some precautions. Our relationship is not exactly official, you see", she winked, "too bad for him that that's a two-sided blade."

"Let's just…get this over with, shall we?", Mycroft said, scanning the area.

It was a place a bit far off. Big properties scattered here and there, with no people around as far as the eye could see. Maybe they could do this quite safely.

While Mycroft and Sherlock were dragging the Prime Minister out of the car, Irene took the lead and went straight to the mailbox. She put her hand inside it and after some fiddling she got what she was looking for.

"The keys", she said, going for the door and opening it up for them.

The Prime Minister was snoring and drooling and occasionally mumbling something. It was quite a ridiculous sight, especially for a man in his position.

"How much of it did you give to him?", Mycroft asked.

"The sleep drug? Oh, just enough for a quick nap", she answered, "here, drop him there on the sofa", she said, pointing to the furniture.

Irene retrieved a very small bottle from inside her purse and kneeled by the sofa where the man was laying.

"Come on, Dimmy, wake up. Come on.", she said, trying to wake him up. When he was responsive enough, she easily forced the contents of the bottle in his mouth.

The man coughed a bit, now more alert than before. He was feeling very weak, very tired, and everything he was hearing and seeing seemed to be a distant dream, as if his mind was wandering, drifting from sleep to awareness back and forth.

"Okay, then…let's test this. What is your name?"

"D…Dmitry."

"Ok, then, Dmitry. Who are you?"

"I, uh…am the Prime Minister of Russia."

Irene looked at the Holmes duo, with a gleam in her eyes that clearly said '_see, I told you it would work_'.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and his mouth twisted down in an expression of "not bad". Things were really going smoothly. Sherlock wasn't much impressed, though. He decided to lead the interrogation now.

Sherlock stood in front of the man with his cold, composed face and low but clear voice. Mycroft pressed the record button of his pocket audio recorder.

"Dmitry. Do you know a woman named Maria Vladimirovna Romanova?"

"Yes, I know her", he answered groggily.

"What is your connection with her?"

"M-mutual help."

"Explain."

"T-there's a plan, a political plan…to change Russia. She is a…a descendant from the Romanov family and…wants back her political rights, to rule Russia again. B-but in order to accomplish it, we m…made a deal. I'll help her bring down the President and destroy the current political scenario and…she will give me a lifelong position as her Prime Minister."

"Daring and dangerous. Who else is involved? Name them."

"Can't n-name them all. Too many people. There's a whole militia."

Silence.

"Then tell me about the ones you can name."

"Ludmilla…Dyachenko. And…Sebastian…Moran."

The three looked at each other. So they have been right all along. Ludmilla was indeed involved and Moran was very likely leading them. Sherlock smiled.

"What do they do, exactly?"

"Moran was called to train an army of…p-people opposed to the President. Dyachenko assembled those people…and helps Moran with all the intelligence required in the upcoming warfare to make it work…as flawlessly as possible."

"Is…is this a dream? I s-shouldn't really be saying any of this…not even to my own shadow…oh look, a cat. I've always liked cats", he pointed to a painting hanging on the wall. Other side effects of the truth serum were starting to show now. Sherlock had to be fast.

"Hey, listen. Pay attention to me. Tell me everything you know."

"Dyachenko…as well as the majority of the people involved, are Chechens…Part of the deal, between Romanova and Dyachenko, involved the independence of Chechen from Russia. Those people agreed to put themselves in the line of fire if that meant they would be separated from Russia. Of course…it's a very dangerous deal, especially for them, but…if that ends the confrontations and allows both lands to live cordially…it's as good a time as ever to try."

"What about Moran? Why is he involved?"

"Moran…is a crazy dude. But a clever one, though. He was hired to train the Chechen army specifically for this mission. He is an experienced soldier who acts unscrupulously. That's all I know."

Sherlock sighed. It was not much, but at least it was something. Of course Moran wouldn't expose himself. If he wanted more info, he would have to get to Romanova, and that would be very difficult.

* * *

Dyanchenko reached a place she had never been to before. It was had big properties with big houses, here and there, but not really many people passing by. Scanning the area, she spotted the Prime Minister's car parked just outside one of the houses, with another car equally expensive very close to it. The property was one of his vacation homes. She got out of the car and trotted about 150 meters to the house. Silently, stealthily, she made sure no one could see her and made it to the door. Putting her ear on it, she could hear voices coming from the other side but it was impossible to tell whom they belong to. She was sure to be seen if she tried to sneak in. The windows were too high for her to reach by herself. She decided to walk around the house and try to find a way in.

When she reached the garden she could see a hatch on the ground. It was locked with a simple padlock. She used her hairpin and easily unlocked it. She then opened the hatch and as quietly as she could manage, made her way inside the house. The basement was dark and damp but otherwise mostly empty. She proceeded, making her ways through the rooms. She was starting to hear the voices again now. The living room must be close. The voices were clear now. One of them definitely belonged to the Prime Minister. The room was just beyond a wall now.

Dyachenko was against the wall, her body straight and tense. Then, very carefully, she peeked at the other side. There she saw them.

"What about Moran? Why is he involved?"

That's it. There he was, unbelievably alive, Sherlock Holmes. Moran was right then. Dyachenko almost laughed at the situation.

"Moran…is a crazy dude. But a clever one, though. He was hired to train the Chechen militia specifically for this mission. He is an experienced soldier who acts unscrupulously. That's all I know."

And there he was, the Prime Minister, giving everything away.

"Tell me when and how you are going to act", Sherlock said.

"Tonight. After my meeting with the President at the Kremlin."

There was a pause. Dyachenko listened intently.

"Those people are everywhere…They monitor and report all activity and are very organized. Moran and Dyachenko can get any information they want in the blink of an eye, if it's in their reach. That means the whole city. Once I get inside the Kremlin, I'll be able to open a breach and they will take over the whole building. That won't take more than fifteen minutes. While they are doing their job, I'll be doing mine. I'll go to his office and tell him what is happening. He then will choose to either step down, live and be expelled, or die and have the wind carry his ashes."

"That means either way he won't come out alive."

"Yes, that's right."

"Typical. Tell me about the weapons. So many armed men require a lot of money. Where did it all come from?"

"I helped. In my position it's quite easy to intercept arms shipments. Money diversion here, some bribe there and you are all set. Easy work."

Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged a glance and Mycroft stopped recording the confession.

"Well. We'd better go now. This will be difficult to take care of", Mycroft said.

Dyachenko easily recognized Irene and Mycroft walking away to the front door. The door shut and she peeked again. They were all gone, except for the Prime Minister, who was still lying on the sofa. She walked to him.

"Oh. Ludmilla…", he said, startled.

"You're very, _very _screwed, you know."

"Please…don't kill me…"

"Begging for your life won't make matters any better. Besides, I'm not the one to decide your fate", she said, fetching her phone and dialing a number.

"Colonel Moran, sir, we have a situation."

* * *

Sherlock was driving the very car they came with before. Mycroft was beside him and Irene was in the back seat. There was a nervous silence hanging in the air. Sherlock was driving as fast as he could and Mycroft was trying to make a call.

"Yes, this is Mycroft Holmes. I want you to raise Moran's threat level to maximum. No, I still haven't found him but I'm close enough to it. Also, I need to have an audience with the President of Russia."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Yes, of _course it IS_ Putin. Who else would it be? Yes, I'll wait, but please hurry."

* * *

"A situation? What is it?", asked Moran.

There was a moment of silence. Moran's lips were twitching uncontrollably, like he didn't know whether to frown or laugh. He was doing both, actually.

"I see", he finally replied.

Silence.

"So I was right all along…nice", he said, now laughing manically, totally unable to hide his excitement.

"Tell me everything you saw", he demanded.

"Huh…so Mycroft and Irene were there was well. What to do next, you ask me? Well, I suppose that changes things. We are moving on to plan B. They will reach the President any time now, so you have to be fast. The Prime Minister? Get him here. I'll call Romanova."

* * *

Sherlock dropped Irene at the hotel. The three decided it was best she stayed out of sight. How could she possibly help them there, at the Kremlin? Besides, her connection with The Prime Minister could make matters worse to everyone if she was to tag along.

"It's best if you leave immediately. Are you good to go?"

"Yes, I already had bought tickets to go back home tonight. Why, Sherlock, are you actually worried?"

"Nonsense. We are leaving now", Sherlock replied, heading for the Kremlin.

"So, brother…", Sherlock began, "how does it feel to have no power whatsoever here in Russia?", he asked, clearly amused.

"Very funny, Sherlock", Mycroft replied with a fake smile, then started massaging his temples.

"Well, at least we are allowed to get inside."

Mycroft glared daggers at Sherlock. As amusing as it was to see his brother upset, though, Sherlock knew they had to do this A.S.A.P. It was their chance to catch Moran and as bored as Sherlock would probably be once he was out of his way, he couldn't allow the man to threaten him and his friends any longer. And Molly.

_Especially Molly_, he thought.

"What?", Mycroft asked.

"What?", Sherlock asked, confused.

Mycroft smirked at his brother.

"You just said _especially Molly_, Sherlock."

"No, I certainly did not", he replied, _and I could swear I told this only to myself_, he added mentally, still confused.

Mycroft laughed a short laugh, contemplating the mess his brother has got himself into.

* * *

"Hello, Mrs. Romanova. Moran speaking. I'm calling because there has been an…unexpected turn of events, so we are moving on to plan B. I advise you to watch your back. As I told you before, my mission is done and I'm getting my ass out of here. Good luck. I now bid you farewell."

Moran hung up and put his phone back in his coat pocket. He proceeded to open the door in front of him. An alarm was sounding and could be heard throughout the whole building. He slowly opened the door and entered the room. There was a man behind a desk who, not expecting anyone to enter without his permission, was taken by surprise. He then quickly drew a gun from his desk drawer and pointed it to Moran. Not a second later a loud alarm could be heard throughout the whole building.

"Well, hello there, Mr. President", Moran said with a cheerful voice.

The other man said nothing. His cold blue eyes analyzed Moran from hair to toe.

"Who are you?", he asked.

"The name's Sebastian Moran. But that doesn't really matter. I'm here to take you."

There was a heartbeat of silence.

"And why should I go with you?"

"Because you don't really have another way out."

At that precise moment, six other men or so barged in, heavily armed.

"I'm going to take you and then you will make a choice. Your helicopter is waiting. Come."

The president hesitated. He felt angry and helpless because he knew he had no chance to fight them at the moment. He then slowly put his gun on the floor and kicked it in the direction of the door. Moran caught it and ordered his men to escort him to the roof. He then proceeded to go with them but stopped on his tracks, thinking. Having decided on something, he proceeded to the president's desk with a smile on his lips.

* * *

Sherlock was now reaching the Kremlin. As he got closer, he could see something was very wrong. There Police Special Tactics Unit could be seen everywhere inside and around the building. Some bodies could be seen at a distance and part of the building was isolated. Sherlock hardly got fifty meters near the Kremlin and he was ordered to stop the car. The policeman started speaking in Russian. Mycroft took the lead.

"My name is Mycroft Holmes. I work for Her Majesty's Secret Service of the United Kingdom. I'm here to speak of an urgent matter with the president."

The man looked at him for a long minute, analyzed his credentials and called someone on his radio. Not one minute later, a woman came accompanied by a policeman.

"Yes? You're Mycroft Holmes?", she asked, a bit nervous and shaking.

"Yes, I am, miss…?"

"Oh, sorry, it's Chernikova. Anya Chernikova. I'm the president's secretary", she replied.

"I see. What happened here?", Mycroft asked.

"The president has been kidnapped."

Silence. Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged a glance.

"We're too late then", Sherlock commented.

"Too late? What do you mean?", the woman asked, "what do you know about this?"

"Well…let's say this is the very reason we are here", Mycroft said, taking the recorder from his pocket and hitting play.

_Dmitry. Do you know a woman named Maria Vladimirovna Romanova? Yes, I know her. What is your connection with her? M-mutual help. Explain. T-there's a plan, a political plan…to change Russia. She is a…a descendant from the Romanov family and…wants back her political rights, to rule Russia again. B-but in order to accomplish it, we m…made a deal. I'll help her bring down the President and destroy the current political scenario and…she will give me a lifelong position as her Prime Minister. Daring and dangerous. Who else is involved? Name them. Can't n-name them all. Too many people. There's a whole militia._

Mycroft hit stop and the recorded conversation ceased. The woman had a horrified expression, her mouth hanging open in confusion and disbelief. The policeman had pretty much the same reaction, but managed to speak.

"_What?!_ This is evidence material! I'm truly sorry, sir, but we must keep this recorder so there can be further investigation about the incident", he raised his hand, palm facing up, in Mycroft's direction.

"Sure, all yours. I might need a minute with this woman, though, if you don't mind", Mycroft replied, handing the recorder to the man.

"Ok. You will be requested to testify very shortly, though."

"A couple minutes is all I need", Mycroft replied, then turned to the woman, who hasn't spoken a single word and was shaking in shock.

"Oh my God…th-that's the Prime Minister, isn't it? Oh my God…I never…I…", the woman was hyperventilating. Her knees were wobbly and she started to lose her balance. Mycroft held her arm, trying to steady her, but she was far too shocked.

"Please, I know it's a lot to digest, but it's important that you tell us what you know about what just happened", Mycroft tried, still holding her by her arm.

"I…you will have to t-talk to them, but I really d-doubt they will give you any access whatsoever", she managed to speak, even though she was shaking violently.

"Then tell me what you saw, what you heard, everything you can remember."

"I…all right…"

The woman tried to calm herself and concentrate. After a couple minutes she started speaking again.

"Everything was all right, and then…out of nowhere, these men came barging in. They went straight to the president's room and I was forced to stay very still because…"

The woman started sobbing.

"…Because there was this man pointing a gun to my head and telling me to keep quiet and oh God, it was terrible! And then…just a couple minutes later or so…this other man, probably the leader…took the president and just…took off! It was so fast, I have no idea how they were able to do such a thing, the Kremlin is so heavily guarded!"

"No force is strong enough if there is a single person who's the weak link", Mycroft replied, "it happened in the Kremlin and could happen anywhere else, if given proper incentive."

"Is there anything else you could tell us?", Sherlock asked as calmly as he could manage.

"I…oh, of course. I almost forgot…I managed to take these after the president was taken and about a minute before the building was secured again. I found it so odd…", she said, fetching her phone from her purse, fiddling with it and showing its screen to Sherlock.

Sherlock froze in place.

* * *

**Zombie (by The Cranberries)**

_Another head hangs lowly  
Child is slowly taken  
And the violence caused such silence  
Who are we mistaken?_

_But you see, it's not me, it's not my family  
In your head, in your head they are fighting  
With their tanks and their bombs  
And their bones and their guns  
In your head, in your head, they are crying..._

Dyachenko was nervous. This was getting out of hand. What if they failed? This was their only chance in probably a lifetime. Moran was already leaving Russia and Romanova was in some country in the world that definitely wasn't Russia. The Prime Minister was under arrest in the HQ for his own good. He had messed up enough.

_That doesn't matter now, _Dyachenko thought to herself. She had to concentrate: she had everything she needed to accomplish her objective and she would do her best. Right now she needed to make the president step down. And she had to do it fast. Even with considerably tight defenses and strategically hidden location, she couldn't expect Russia to take too long to figure out her position. She knew every second counted and if a direct confrontation should happen, their militia would be at great disadvantage. Blood would be shed. Her comrades, all united under a mission, would die a painful, horrible death. She then decided not to think of Russia's military power at that moment.

_In your head, in your head  
Zombie, zombie, zombie hey, hey  
What's in your head? In your head  
Zombie, zombie, zombie?  
Hey, hey, hey, oh, dou, dou, dou, dou, dou..._

_Another mother's breaking  
Heart is taking over  
When the violence causes silence  
We must be mistaken_

Dyachenko proceeded to turn on the camera that was angled towards the president. He was all tied up, unable to move.

_It's the same old theme since nineteen-sixteen  
In your head, in your head they're still fighting  
With their tanks and their bombs  
And their bones and their guns  
In your head, in your head, they are dying..._

Dyachenko put on a mask and looked at him. His gaze was so fierce it could easily pierce granite. She pointed at a nearby monitor and a few seconds later, Romanova's face could be seen. She smiled at him and said:

"You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?"

* * *

"What? What is it, Sherlock?", Mycroft asked his brother, who then said, with contained despair in his voice:

"I need to go back to London, Mycroft. Now._"_

_In your head, in your head  
Zombie, zombie, zombie  
Hey, hey. What's in your head  
In your head  
Zombie, zombie, zombie?  
Hey, hey, hey, oh, oh, oh  
Oh, oh, oh, oh, hey, oh, ya, ya-a..._

On the small screen of the woman's phone, there was a picture. An awfully low quality picture, but still, it was unmistakably clear. It was the photograph of a desk. The president's desk. On it laid a sheet of paper with a single bullet on the center of it and a message written on it. A very short, but very threatening message:

_You shouldn't have done that._

* * *

**Footnote: **Oh well. Cheers or rotten tomatoes?


	11. Just a kiss

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock. I also, sadly, don't own John, nor Molly or any of the characters portrayed either in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works or in Moffat / Gatiss' amazing adaptation of Sherlock for the BBC, which, by the way, this fic is based on. This is the result of too much free time and addiction to sadness.

For a richer experience, I advise you to listen to the songs which the chapters will be named after, preferably at the time when the lyrics are shown.

Also, this is my first fanfiction ever of any kind. I also am not a native english speaker, so forgive me if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me at any time. Your attention and consideration is deeply appreciated.

**Sidenote:** Hi there! Woot, an update! And much sooner this time! You weren't quite expecting it so early, right? Well, it so happened that this chapter almost was written by itself. It was soooo easy to do it, you have no idea. Makes Zombie seem like a nightmare. The next one will be harder and, consequently, will take longer for me to write it. I'll do my best to finish it as soon as I can. So, have you found out anything about the easter eggs yet? No? I haven't seen anybody saying anything about it. I'll give you a few clues then. There are, in total, three easter eggs. One of them has to do with Mycroft's fake name. It is a reference to one of the greatest children's book ever written, and it was written by a german guy. The second easter egg is still about Mycroft's fake name and is also a reference to a franchise of books – and in my opinion the best franchise ever written in the history of ever – only this time you will only be able to understand it if you consider his fake name is an anagram. The third easter egg is a reference to a game. That game is beyond amazing and a very famous franchise by Nintendo. The main theme of that specific game is a mask. If you type the game's name on google you will find a stunning video that will confirm whether your suspicions are right or not. Wow, guess I gave away too much! If you know the answers, tell me! Either comment, e-mail me ( ) or send me and ask on tumblr ( .com). And remember, the first person to get all the easter eggs will get an A4 size Sherlock drawing done by me free of charge! Yes, I will ship it anywhere in the world! Now, I hope you like this chapter. Yay, finally some Sherlolly action! That's what you were waiting for, right? So…I hope you enjoy it! And thank you ALL for reading! And please leave your thoughts in the comment box!

* * *

**Music for a dead man**

Chapter 11: Just a kiss

It was the fourteenth of July. Thursday. _Oh boy. Why is it not Friday yet?,_ Molly thought, _I can't wait to go home. Actually, I can't wait for the weekend. What time is it?_

Molly was at Bart's. She was working an extra two hours tonight. Her work colleague didn't show up so she had extra work. There was so much work to do, but hopefully she would finish it soon. This time it wasn't with corpses, really; since Sherlock had supposedly died, the number of dead bodies left to her for analysis had dramatically dropped. Molly was actually at the lab, working with tissue samples. It's been almost three full days since Sherlock departed to Russia and there was no sign of him. Not a call, not even a text message, nothing. Molly was starting to worry. Was he alright? Did he get himself in real trouble? Well, Mycroft was with him, so that was a good thing, right? Right? She searched for her phone, only to remember that she forgot it at home.

Molly took a quick look outside the window. It was snowing. Actually, it has been snowing since the very day Sherlock left. Molly wondered if nature was mocking her somehow. She decided to leave her car home and get the tube to go to Bart's. It certainly wouldn't be as comfortable as her car, but considering the amount of snow on the streets she decided it wasn't worth driving: she would have to put chains on her wheels and be extra careful and even might not have been able to drive through certain streets. There was snow everywhere. It was like London was all covered in white, which certainly could be all beautiful and romantic, if only things were different. Getting her attention back to her work, she was happy to realize the results were almost ready and then she could go home. Molly then decided to get a hot cup of coffee.

Molly went downstairs, straight to the coffee machine. There was a clock on the wall just above the machine. Almost nine. She just had to work fifteen minutes more. _Hallelujah, _she thought. The halls were somewhat empty; most of the hospital staff who worked in the lab floor had already gone. As she waited for her coffee, Molly could swear she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

* * *

"You are being a fool", said Putin.

"Am I? I'm fighting for my land, for the right to have a nation where I could live happily. Is that too much to ask?", Dyachenko replied.

"Russia is your homeland! Our homeland! What you are doing is _treason against the –"_

"Against the nation, yeah, whatever. If that is so, what do you call all the bloodshed, all the deaths of our people? Hmm…what's the name again? Oh, that's it, _GENOCIDE!_", she growled the last word.

Putin swallowed hard, saying nothing. Dyanchenko smiled victoriously.

"We don't want much, you know that. It's just a teensy tiny part of Russia's territory. What harm could it do to you?"

"What harm could it do indeed, Russia bowing to a handful of people", he spat sarcastically.

"We just want what is ours", she replied angrily.

"THERE IS NO _OURS. _THERE IS JUST WHAT IS! RUSSIA AND CHECHEN _ARE ONE!_"

At that moment a gigantic fist hit Putin's cheekbones.

"Keep it down. You are talking to a lady", said a 6'7" man, walking away.

"And YOU are talking to the president, you BIG PILE OF _SHIT!_", Putin spat back.

The man stopped and turned around, going for another round. Dyanchenko stopped him with a hand gesture.

"It's alright, Dom. It's alright", she said.

He stopped and turned away, leaving them.

"And _you, sir, _**were **the president of Russia, _as in, _**is not anymore**", she continued, "do I have to retell your options again? Very well, here we go: one, you go there and officially announce Chechen as an independent country and we make sure you get away alive to never be seen in this land again, or two, you don't help us, die, and we get what we want anyways. That's not so hard to understand, now, is it?"

"Forget it."

Dyachenko sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Come on, now, don't be so difficult", a male's voice cut in. He was slowly making his way to Dyachenko's side. His face couldn't quite be seen, for it was all dark except for a single lamp hanging on the ceiling just above Putin's head. Despite that, he could easily recognize the man without really having to look at him.

"Dmitry", Putin said simply and then chuckled, "of course. These rats could not have done this without help. What did they promise you? Money?"

"_They _promised me nothing. Her highness, however…", the Prime Minister trailed off suggestively.

Putin frowned. Then it all hit him. Romanova. Seeing the realization in his eyes, Dmitry stepped forward so Putin could see him fully.

"Yes. We are like pals now, me and Romanova. Want to hear the full story?", Dmitry said, pulling a nearby chair to sit in front of the very stunned president.

"Very well, here we go…"

* * *

John was home now. For the first time in a while, he felt like he could be happy again. And that, of course, didn't go unnoticed.

"Wow. Who is she? Tell me everything!", Harry said, doing little jumps all the way from the sofa to the door and giving John a big hug.

"Whoa, easy there, Harry", John said with a small laugh, clearly amused by his sister's enthusiasm, and hugged her back.

"Kettle's just boiled. And I made your favorites! Here, have a sit, eat and tell me everything!", she said, still very enthusiastically, dragging him to the coffee table by the sofa.

"There is no _girl_, Harry", John replied, rolling his eyes and desperately trying to hide his amusement.

Harry then stopped and turned around with a curious look in her eyes.

"Oh. I see. Is it a boy, then?"

At that point, John couldn't stop himself from laughing his ass off.

"What? What is so funny?"

"Nothing, uh…just nothing. Alright, _alright, _I'll tell you", he replied a couple minutes later after he was able to recompose himself.

"Yay!", she replied, clearly happy.

John sat down and served himself of tea and a toast with some raspberry jam. He took a bite of it, swallowed slowly, allowing him some time to think. Harry had a big pair of puppy eyes on him, expectantly waiting for him to talk.

"Her name is Mary."

The next sound came from Harry's mouth and it was very close to a dying whale's shriek.

"We met at the hospital", he continued, now smiling openly.

"Is she pretty?"

"Yes, she is."

Another shriek.

"Harry, would you please stop with the shrieks?", he asked, laughing.

"Oh. Okay. Sorry! It's just that I'm so happy for you, brother!"

"Thank you", he said, genuinely grateful.

"…Is that it? Oh, _come on, _tell me more!", Harry said when a couple minutes passed.

"That's it, Harry. Mary just started working as the head nurse at Charing Cross' this week. We've been getting along well, she seems to be a very nice woman."

Harry was visibly disappointed.

"What? No shag? Nothing? Where the hell is the John I know?"

"It's…not like that, Harry. She seems to be a very nice woman but we don't know each other very well."

"Oh. I see. What's holding you back, though?"

Silence.

"Can I help?", she tried again.

John sighed and decided that it was best to answer.

"Getting closer means to open up. She knows who I am, who I…lived with. I'm not ready to just talk about it."

Harry didn't know what to say. She thought carefully before speaking.

"But…you can't let that hinder your happiness anymore, John. You will have to let him go, eventually…You deserve to be happy, sweetheart."

John was obstinately looking at his tea mug with a frown on his face.

"Yes…you are right. But I just…"

Harry watched him expectantly.

"Goodnight, Harry. Thank you for the tea", he thanked her with a sad smile.

"Goodnight, John. Sleep well", she said, not being able to hide the sadness in her voice.

* * *

"For God's sake, Molly, _pick. IT. __**UP!**_", Sherlock said angrily. It was about the tenth time he tried to call her, to warn her to stay locked somewhere safe, _anywhere but home. _He had just arrived at Heathrow Airport and hastily made his way to the nearest cab. Having no better option at the moment, Sherlock sent a text message. He just hoped she could see it in time.

* * *

Molly was very close to her flat now. The night was very, very cold, so cold indeed her coat and all other fabric layers she had on her were barely doing their job of keeping her warm. She thought that taking the subway and walking a few hundred yards home wouldn't be so hard. Just around the corner now. She could see the street was empty. It wasn't that late in the night, but clearly the frightful weather had scared people away. They were all curled under their blankets or having hot beverage in some pub. And she would go back to Toby, have a hot shower and watch some sad movie that mirrored her spirits before going to sleep. She wondered, yet again, where Sherlock was, and if he was alright. Was it cold in Russia right now? She hoped not. If it was this cold in London, she didn't want to think how could it could be in Russia right now.

Finally. Molly opened the door and took a flight of stairs. She opened the door to her flat.

"Oh, boy. Finally!"

Toby went to her, purring and meowing all the way.

"Oh, baby, I missed you too. Are you hungry? You must be. Here, let me give you something to eat."

Molly put her coat in the coat rack, put some cat food in Toby's bowl and then proceeded to put her things down in the living room. She caught sight of her phone on the coffee table.

"Oh, there you are", she said to herself.

Browsing through the missing calls, she froze. Ten missed calls. All of them from Sherlock. _Oh my God. Why so many? Is he alright? What happened?, _she thought. Then there was a text message. She opened it.

_Don't go home. Go anywhere but home, it's not safe. Watch your back. –SH _

Molly started to tremble.

"Oh my God", she whispered, trying to control her shaking limbers and call Sherlock. When she was about to put her phone on her ear, she saw a blur out of the corner of her eye.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, miss Hooper."

And then she saw him. With a maniac grin and a gun in his hand, pointing at her.

"Put it down, will you?", asked Moran.

* * *

Sherlock paid the cabbie and stood outside Molly's flat. He observed and tried to deduce everything he could. He knew Molly was at home as Mycroft gave him the heads up. Good thing about having surveillance cameras throughout the city.

He saw footprints. They were visibly fresh, one of them belonging to a woman and the other one to a man. The one that belonged to the man indicated he had a bulky size, at least six feet. Sherlock knew Molly didn't have any male neighbors with bulky constitution, so it was clear that the footprint belonged to a stranger.

Sherlock opened the door and got inside. He examined the walls and the stairs, but saw no indications of violence. Which means he either got inside before she got home or after she got home. Now, if it was after, he would most probably have forced the door, which would get the attention of neighbors and put him in high profile. No, Moran _knew _exactly where she lived and what time she would get home. He simply got ahead of her, picked the lock to the door and waited.

_That means she's his hostage by now, _Sherlock thought as he slowly stepped upstairs. He went through the hallway as silently as he could and stopped just outside Molly's door. He noticed it wasn't locked. Then, deliberately, slowly, Sherlock opened the door.

He immediately saw Molly sitting on the sofa with a very distressed look on her face. She had dried tears on her cheeks and her hands were shaking. Molly looked back at him, with a look of despair but also relief. Sherlock stepped forward and closed the door behind him. He scanned the flat, but saw nothing he wasn't expecting to see.

"Evening, Holmes", said a male voice, "don't be shy now, come closer."

As Sherlock walked closer to Molly, he could see Moran sitting on an armchair, gun pointing at Molly and his feet on the coffee table.

"So we finally meet, then. Let me introduce myself officially. My name is Sebastian Moran. I used to be a soldier, a – "

"A colonel", Sherlock interrupted, "yes, I know. The name's Sherlock Holmes. But you know that already."

"Oh yes, that and a lot more", Moran replied with a grin.

"What do you want, Moran?"

"I want you dead", he said simply, now pointing the gun to Sherlock.

Molly was about to move and say something, but Sherlock anticipated her reaction and intervened, looking fiercely at Moran.

"No, Molly. Don't. Stay where you are, don't try to move. You'll be fine."

Molly didn't reply, but obeyed nonetheless. She was worried about what Sherlock had just said. He said _she _would be fine, but he never said anything about _him_ being ok as well. What could that mean? Was he really thinking about taking Moran's offer?

Moran got up, still pointing his gun at Sherlock. He squinted a little and then smile.

"Oh. She means that much to you, doesn't she? Well then, in this case, I should kill her too", he said, pointing his gun at Molly again.

Sherlock was very angry. So angry in fact, he could barely contain his emotions. It was all there for everyone to see: a murder look, his jaw locked tightly, his heart beating fast, his hands into fists on the sides of his body. And yet, he knew he could not react. A hasty reaction could easily mean Molly's death. Sherlock would have to wait for a breach, for a split second chance to turn the table.

"You assume too much", Sherlock replied, as calmly as he could, though his anger could be easily felt on his voice.

"Do I? Well, I think you are bluffing, Holmes."

At that moment, Moran's phone started to ring. Moran rolled his eyes and impatiently answered it.

"Yes, what _is _it? Hm. I see. Hold them as much as you can", he said, and then hung up.

"Oh well, your brother has just crashed our party. How mean is that? He's no fun at all!"

"Tell me about it", Sherlock answered sarcastically.

There was a moment of tension in the room. And then, a loud bang somewhere outside. Gun shot. And it was in this precise moment that everything happened, where Moran made a huge mistake. He looked in the direction of the shot and as soon as he did, he realized he shouldn't have done that. By the time he looked at Sherlock again, the detective was almost on his throat. Instinctively, Moran pulled the trigger.

* * *

Not a second after Mycroft shoot one of Moran's men, another gunshot could be heard. It came from Molly's flat.

_Oh no, _he thought.

"Make haste! Go!", Mycroft ordered his men to surround the flat.

Not a minute later, everyone was out of their flats. People hurriedly came rushing outside, afraid of the gunshot they just heard.

* * *

Sherlock was fighting Moran for the gun. They were choking each other, punching and elbowing each other and with one swift movement, Sherlock was able to tackle him down. Moran fell on the coffee table and his gun flew from his hand and landed somewhere in the kitchen. Molly quickly made her way out of the mess and kicked the gun under the refrigerator. Toby was desperate and fiercely displayed his displeasure, running from the living room and hiding somewhere in Molly's room.

The coffee table, as expected, didn't endure the blow and broke. Sherlock was about to deliver a strong blow, when Moran quickly rolled out of his range, picking up one of the table's legs and using it as a stick. It had a sharp edge and he continually tried to thrust it at Sherlock, who was trying his best to evade the continuing attacks.

Molly felt helpless. She couldn't do anything to help Sherlock now. Her knees were trembling and she was unable to even walk straight.

Sherlock ducked and counter-attacked with an elbow blow, from down to up, hitting Moran's jaw with massive strength. Moran fell backwards, dizzy. Sherlock plunged at him and started punching his face, but Moran managed to recover quickly enough to tackle Sherlock over and hit him hard on his left shoulder.

Sherlock let out a cry of pain as he fell on the floor. Moran was about to hit him again, when the door burst open and a half dozen men came inside.

"Drop the weapon! Hands behind your head, NOW!", one of them commanded.

Moran turned around and rushed to Molly's room, where could be heard glass shattering. The men, totally stunned, for they were definitely **not **expecting that reaction, rushed to the room, only to find it empty. As soon as they peeked outside the window – or at least what used to be a window and now is mostly a framed hole on the wall – they could see more fighting and struggling. Moran was running down the street with the police on his neck, opening fire at him. Some other police men, though, started firing against the police itself, obviously trying to help Moran. It was a distraction that allowed Moran to do a hasted retreat. And then, before anyone could realize what the hell was happening, Moran was out of sight.

Sherlock was lying on the floor, panting. He tried to sit, supporting his back on the side of the armchair. He had his eyes tightly shut, trying to fight back the pain. He could hear some ruckus and glass shattering.

_And there he goes, _Sherlock thought.

He now felt someone blocking the light and, opening his eyes, saw Molly. She bent down on both knees to look at him.

"Oh, God…I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry…", she said, trying to fight back her tears.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile. She was unharmed, after all.

"It's alright, Molly. I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You are bleeding, Sherlock!"

Now that she mentioned it, Sherlock did feel his left shoulder hurting like hell. Taking a look at it, surely enough, it was bleeding. He had been shot.

"Let me take a look at it", she said, trying to calm down and pull herself together.

Molly lifted his coat just enough to see where the bullet had hit him. His shirt was tore on his shoulder and on further inspection, she let out a sigh of relief.

"The bullet has just grazed your shoulder. You'll be fine soon enough, no permanent consequences", she said, trying her best to sound cheery, but failing to contain her tears.

"Come on, Molly. Don't cry. We are fine", Sherlock tried to calm her down with the softest voice he could manage. She was looking down, for some reason embarrassed to look at him.

"I'm sorry, it was my fault. I shouldn't have forgotten my phone at home…", she said between sobs, "I'm so useless, and now you are hurt, I'm so –"

"Will you _please _stop it?", Sherlock said, putting his index finger on her lips to silence her, "but _do _bring your phone with you next time, _will you?_"

Molly nodded.

"Good", he said, wiping her tears off her face with his right hand.

He then looked at her, deep in her eyes, and smiled. He didn't know why, he just smiled. Maybe it was because she was safe, at least for now, and for some reason that brought him huge relief.

"Aham", a man behind them cleared his throat, clearly trying to make them acknowledge his presence.

"Oh. Mycroft", Sherlock said.

"The next time you go in the direction of your certain death, would you mind telling me in advance? You wouldn't believe how hard it was to get all these men here in time", he said with a reprimanding tone.

"That wasn't really on my mind, to tell you the truth", Sherlock replied.

Mycroft looked at him and then at Molly.

"No, I believe it really wasn't", he said, smirking, replying to Sherlock but looking at Molly.

Molly was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.

"Um…can I ask what was this all about, exactly?", she asked Mycroft.

"Oh, you sure can, but I'll leave that to Sherlock", Mycroft said.

"Found the gun, sir!", a man spoke from the kitchen.

"Good. We are leaving now."

"What about him, sir?", asked another man, hesitantly.

"Miss Hooper here is more than qualified to take care of such injuries. Unless she doesn't want to", Mycroft said, turning to Molly for an answer.

"Oh. No, it's alright. I have everything I need, I can do it", she replied to the men.

"It's settled then. Have a good night miss Hooper. Night, brother", Mycroft said, closing the door behind him, but not before making his men put the hazardous broken pieces of wood and glass in the flat away to avoid accidents.

There was complete silence.

Sherlock decided to get up. Seeing as he was struggling with the effort, Molly promptly helped him to get on his feet.

"Thank you. I, uh, should change these", Sherlock said, pointing to his own clothes.

"Oh. Ok. Um…do you want some tea?"

"Yes, please."

Sherlock retreated to his room, grabbed a few clothes and then proceeded to the bathroom to take a hot, relaxing shower.

Molly, on the other hand, used the few minutes she had alone to let all the recent events sink in. She was nearly killed. And then **Sherlock** was _very nearly _killed. Then Moran ran away and now Sherlock is injured and Molly has to stitch him up and _how the hell_ a simple physician got herself wrapped up in such a mess?

Molly sighed and tried to organize her thoughts. _Alright, first things first. Step one, boil the kettle. Step two, get whatever we need._ She fetched her pharmacy box to get everything she needed: stitch thread, anesthetic, gauze, alcohol, antiseptic, and brand new needles._ Step three, disinfect hands. Done._

Sherlock got out of the bathroom. His hair was damp, but dry enough not to drip water on his shoulders. The wound was much clearer now, and much less ugly looking. He had his chest bare and the button of his trousers undone. He silently made his way to the living room. Shivering a little bit, he lit the fire and sat on the sofa on the spot closest to the fireplace.

Molly turned off the fire and put the kettle on a tray. She then got another clean tray, put all the utensils she was going to need on it and walked to Sherlock's side on the sofa. He looked tired. And yet, there was something else. His look, his gaze…there was tiredness there, but there was also something else that Molly couldn't quite name.

As she got close to him, it finally struck her: his naked chest, his trousers with its button undone and him, sprawled on the sofa in a nearly sloppy way. He was gorgeous. She never saw him like this, which made all his beauty strike her even harder.

"Um…Sherlock, can you sit straight? It will be easier for both of us if you do it", she asked, after contemplating his figure for a whole minute, without realizing she was doing so.

Sherlock didn't say anything, but straightened himself up. Molly then put the tray on the armchair closest to the fire and started disinfecting the wound. Sherlock let out a low hiss, clearly in pain, but didn't protest further. Molly was watching him and trying to be as gentle as she could. She then put some anesthetic and went to the kitchen to get them some tea while its effect kicked in.

Molly handed Sherlock a mug of tea and sat by his side. He sipped once and, seeing that he liked how it tasted, took a larger gulp. He was silent. Too silent. He hadn't spoke once since he showered. Molly then tried to say something, anything, because this silence was making her feel uncomfortable.

"Um…thank you, Sherlock. For saving me. I never expected this mess would happen. I'm so sorry…"

He finally looked at her and smiled shyly.

"You are welcome, Molly", and then redirected his attention to his tea.

She smiled in return, and did the same. They were silent for a few minutes and when they finished with their tea, Molly proceeded to disinfect her hands again and start to stitch him up.

"This is going to hurt a bit, but it's needed. I'll do it as fast as I can so it will be over soon", she said. He just nodded.

Molly placed herself behind his left shoulder and started to sow. She could feel his warm skin under her fingertips and tried her best not to shiver at the contact. This was the closest she ever got to him, even though it was because of an unfortunate event. Sherlock glanced at her sideways every once in a while. There was absolute silence, only the noise of the fire snapping every now and then. After a few minutes she was done with the stitching part, so she proceeded to put some antiseptic and gauze, finishing with a "try not to move your left arm too roughly for at least a couple days, ok?"

"Ok", he answered.

"I'll, uh…put these in place", she said, pointing to the needles and gauze and everything else.

Sherlock watched her every movement. She put everything back in the pharmacy box and then put the box in the cupboard. Sherlock sensed she was about to turn around and so averted his eyes, looking at the floor instead. There was some fierce battle inside him. When did he allow himself such emotions? It was so much he was feeling overwhelmed. And why? _Why?_

His distress could be easily read on his face. Sherlock was not able to hold back anymore, and Molly could see through him. She slowly took a couple steps forward, putting herself in his field of vision again.

"Sherlock? What is it?", she asked softly.

Her voice seemed to wake him from his own thoughts. At first he looked at her with a surprised face, like he didn't acknowledge her close presence before. Then he swallowed hard and looked down at the floor again. When Molly was about to speak again, he slowly got up, and it hurt more than he thought it would but it wasn't nearly as bad as his first time in Molly's flat, just after the fall.

Sherlock locked eyes with Molly. He was dead serious and his eyes were slightly watered. He wasn't crying, but he surely was having a huge battle with his own emotions. The reason to all this was slowly sinking in for him. It was similar to the Hound of the Baskerville case, except now he wasn't scared of what he first perceived as a monster. Nevertheless, he felt fear. When he read Moran's note he at once understood that, in some level, he had underestimated the man and consequently put Molly's life in danger.

He feared he could've lost Molly. Now, when that thought came to his mind again, it took all the strength he had not to shudder. It was just something he could not bear. It was too strong. For some reason, as much as it would have hurt him to lose Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and John on that fateful day, the thought of losing Molly just a few hours ago made him feel sick to his stomach. No, just no. And as much as he wanted it not to happen, making him feel vulnerable, he could not do anything about it. This was against his will. Contrary to what he believed, he couldn't rule his feelings.

Still overloaded with emotion, Sherlock slowly took a couple steps forward, closing the distance between them. They were about five inches apart. Molly started to hyperventilate. Her pupils dilated, her pulse quickened. She was scared and couldn't help but think, _What does that mean? What does he want? What do I do? Oh God, my knees are turning into jello…_

He looked at her in the eyes with an intensity he didn't know he could conceive. Then, his gaze softened and he gave her a small smile. Molly, on the other hand, was so scared and shocked with his reaction she wasn't moving or blinking or breathing at all.

Slowly, Sherlock wrapped his arms around Molly, pulling her to him in a firm yet very tender, intimate embrace. He felt the warmth of her body against his which served as an assurance that they were alright now. That _Molly _was alright now. He rested his right cheek on her right temple and let out a long sigh of relief.

Sherlock didn't know what to do. He had never found himself before in such a situation. The best to do, he figured, was to just not think too much about it. To try to just…do whatever he _felt _was right, and not what he _thought _was right. That experience itself was giving him mixed feelings.

_Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side, _he thought, _however, I can't deny I have them, whatever they are, for much longer._

He allowed himself to close his eyes and just try to enjoy the moment, no questions asked.

Molly was very much confused. She felt like her heart – and also the time, now that she was at it – had stopped. She was experiencing so many feelings it seemed her brain had just glitched and she had ceased to show any reaction whatsoever and instead just stood there, jaw hanging open and wide-eyed. Sherlock had unconsciously and very discreetly started rocking side to side now, and that seemed to trigger Molly's brain into working again.

Molly felt like her heart started to beat again. So fast in fact, she was having trouble to breathe now. She blinked furiously, letting all that had just happened sink in. Molly finally responded, hugging him back. She wrapped her arms around him, touching his bare back, and rested her forehead on his chest. She could feel his breathing and his heartbeat slowly becoming steadier. Molly was scared: she never expected Sherlock would ever do something like this, let alone do it to her. At the same time, she was also happy and feeling so good she felt she could fly. The tension between them had dropped dramatically and they were comfortable with each other as it was right now.

"I thought I had lost you", Sherlock confessed, with a somewhat hoarse voice.

"I…", Molly tried.

"I'm sorry", they said in unison.

They were silent. Sherlock moved his right hand from her back to the nape of her neck, caressing her hair. Molly unconsciously responded, caressing his back.

Slowly, Sherlock pulled away just enough to look her in the eyes again, smiling shyly as he did so. Molly was feeling drawn to him. Those eyes…those hypnotic eyes. His cheekbones, his _lips_…

Before Molly could make her brain catch up with her actions, she kissed him. She felt his warm lips on hers and felt his breathing, and how it went from steady to none to erratic in what seemed to be a split second. And then, like three seconds later, her eyes snapped open and her brain finally caught up with her actions. She pulled back abruptly and had a mortified expression on her face.

_Oh. My. __**God.**__ What did I just __**do**__? Oh no __**no**__ NO, this was a mistake. What am I going to do? What is __**he**__ going to do?,_ her thoughts were racing a thousand miles per hour.

"Oh. Sherlock…I'm sorry! I didn't mean to…I shouldn't have! I – "

Molly was interrupted by Sherlock, who said nothing, but held his hand up and slowly took a couple steps in her direction. Sherlock was actually surprised. Not surprised that Molly kissed him; no, he knew she had feelings for him and understood it was easy to give in to feelings and desires. He was surprised of what Molly's action triggered inside him. He was initially shocked, but then he felt like some fire inside him ignited and started to burn uncontrollably. For all he cared, that kiss didn't last nearly long enough.

Just a Kiss (by Lady Antebellum)

_Lyin' here with you so close to me  
It's hard to fight these feelings  
When it feels so hard to breathe  
I'm caught up in this moment  
Caught up in your smile_

Sherlock cupped her cheeks in both of his hands. He then lowered his head just enough for their lips to meet again.

And then, just like a minute ago, he felt that fire again: a warmth growing in the pit of his stomach and spreading, going through his spine all the way up to his head. Sherlock was having a very non-Sherlock moment. He had, at least for that sublime moment, wrapped his logical, deduce-everything mind of his in a box and shipped it all the way to Fuck-This island.

_I've never opened up to anyone  
So hard to hold back when I'm holding you in my arms  
We don't need to rush this  
Let's just take it slow_

Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight  
Just a touch in the fire burning so bright  
And I don't want to mess this thing up  
I don't want to push too far  
Just a shot in the dark that you just might  
Be the one I've been waiting for my whole life  
So baby I'm alright, with just a kiss goodnight

Molly was so contented and overwhelmed with emotions she was, in fact, very enthusiastic to respond. Their kiss started to intensify, their breathing getting shallower by the second. She couldn't believe it – this was actually happening.

Sherlock was now being led solely by what he would call his primal instincts. Molly was so ecstatic Sherlock had to take a couple steps backwards to maintain his balance – which actually had the opposite effect. He tripped on what seemed to be a wrinkle on the carpet and a few cushions that were scattered on the floor, probably a consequence of tonight's wrestling.

They fell and Sherlock almost hit the floor, which would be very painful, if not for the sofa that was in the way. He fell with his back on it and Molly crashed on his chest.

That, though, didn't stop them. He made himself comfortable and Molly did the same, intertwining her legs with his and kissing him passionately.

_I know that if we give this a little time  
It will only bring us closer to the love we wanna find  
It's never felt so real  
No, it's never felt so right_

Sherlock allowed himself a few liberties, like caressing Molly's waistline and stroking her back, while Molly did the same with his neck and chest.

To Molly, this felt like a dream. Actually, she was almost positive it _was _a dream, so she would have to pinch herself as soon as she got the chance.

_Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight  
Just a touch in the fire burning so bright  
And I don't want to mess this thing up  
I don't wanna push too far  
Just a shot in the dark that you just might  
Be the one I've been waiting for my whole life  
So baby I'm alright, with just a kiss goodnight_

Sherlock abruptly pulled away, just enough for him to breathe. He was panting. Actually, she was panting as well, but hasn't really realized it until now.

_No I don't wanna say goodnight  
I know it's time to leave  
But you'll be in my dreams  
Tonight  
Tonight  
Tonight_

"Don't be", Sherlock said.

"What?", Molly frowned in confusion.

"You said you were sorry…for kissing me", he explained.

"Oh", her eyes lit up with understanding, "oh…kay, then", she answered.

Now that they were not engaged in such activity anymore, their breathing coming to normal levels, they were just enjoying the company of each other. Or at least Molly was. She couldn't possibly know what Sherlock was thinking: this never, ever happened to them, except in her dreams.

Noticing she was growing uncomfortable, Sherlock cupped her cheek in his right hand and smiled. It was a small, shy smile, but it was of a great significance to her. However, it wasn't enough to make him feel more relaxed and less self-conscious of his actions.

"So…", she tried, "what happened there in Russia, exactly?"

"We failed, but not completely, it seems. We managed to find out what he was exactly up to and where and when that would happen, but we failed to get there in time. It's all a mess now, and Putin has been kidnapped."

"Oh my God. How exactly did that happen?"

"Well, there's this huge plan to take Putin out of the way and not only Moran, Dyanchenko and Romanova were involved. Russia's Prime Minister was in as well. To put it shortly, Romanova planned all this with the Prime Minister. While she was responsible to put someone in charge of the operation, his job was to make sure they would have enough weaponry. That's how Moran got Dyachenko to help him assemble and train their militia. We couldn't foresee, however, how solid and fast their intelligence work would be. It's like they had all of Moscow covered and watched. That's why we couldn't make it in time. When we got there, they were already gone."

"But…why didn't you stay there? He's still missing, isn't he?"

"He is…but I'm pretty sure he will be found soon enough. Moran's militia might be strong and smart, but they are nothing compared to Russia's army. And I didn't stay because I knew he was coming for you. He made that very clear."

Sherlock held her closer with a stronger embrace than before. That didn't go unnoticed by Molly, who blushed a little at his actions. He then continued.

"We have to watch our backs. Moran probably has as much unofficial access to information as I do. Mycroft put the whole MI-5, and apparently the MI-6 now, too, behind him. Interpol is also on his tracks and now even the SVR, former KGB, is after him. But, if I'm right, which, by the way, I usually am, none of that is going to help much. He's got infiltrated subordinates everywhere. He's very much like Moriarty now. He acts but doesn't leave much behind for us to work with. Unless he wants to."

They were silent, contemplating the complicated situation they found themselves in now.

"I…see. Then what do we do now?", she asked.

"Now…we rest."

Molly nodded and tried to get up but Sherlock held her tighter, preventing her to move, and looked at her. She smiled and, understanding what he meant, relaxed and just stayed there, lying with him – or, more specifically, on him – as she easily drifted to sleep.

Sherlock, however, spent a good hour or two contemplating her sleeping figure and thinking about this night's events. What would happen from now on? He didn't want to hurt Molly, but he knew he wasn't the settle down, marry, have kids kind of man. However, he could picture himself with her. She was smart, caring and, most of all, his companion from now on. Would it work?

"Goodnight, Molly", he said, kissing her forehead and giving up thinking about it and drifting to sleep as well, too tired and hurt to be able to think of anything else for much longer.

_Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight  
Just a touch in the fire burning so bright  
And I don't want to mess this thing up  
I don't wanna push too far  
Just a shot in the dark that you just might  
Be the one I've been waiting for my whole life  
So baby I'm alright_

Oh, let's do this right  
With just a kiss goodnight  
With a kiss goodnight  
Kiss goodnight

* * *

**Footnote: **So! Do you like it? Dislike it? I felt this was very out of character because, well, this is not much like Sherlock anyways. Sherlolly itself is out of character, but I'll try to balance their relationship. Anyways, I had much, much fun writing this and I hope you had just as much fun as I had reading it. I'm going to eat something now, it's lunch time here…see you on the next chapter! :D


End file.
